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HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 


KING'S  END 

By  ALICE   BROWN 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
ttitoetfibe  pre?js  Cambribge 


COPYRIGHT,  1900,  BY  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT,  1901,  BY  ALICE  BROWN 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


Kings  Etui  was  originally  published  in  Lippincotfs 
Magazine  under  the  title  April  Showers. 

OJL ^ 


To  E.  E.  R. 

WITH  THE  LOVE  OF  TWENTY  YEARS 


KING'S   END 


IT  was  four  o'clock  of  an  afternoon  in  May ; 
yet  the  air  moved  softly,  as  if  it  were  June, 
and  the  sky  stretched  clearly  blue,  with  great 
drifting  clouds,  like  a  later  summer.  A  strag- 
gling village  under  a  hillside  lay  asleep.  This 
was  King's  End,  so  called  in  Revolutionary 
spirit,  a  hundred  years  ago,  when  it  was 
ashamed  of  being  St.  George ;  and  it  lay  open 
to  air  and  light,  as  if  nobody  had  been  at  home 
since  the  founding  thereof.  The  road,  marked 
by  scattered  houses  on  either  side,  curled  allur- 
ingly for  an  interval  until  the  land  began  to 
rise ;  then  it  ran,  a  fine,  yellow  track,  straight 
up  the  mountain.  Here,  with  the  ascending 
slope,  it  became  deeply  wooded  like  the  moun- 
tain itself,  darkened  with  fir,  and  softened  by 
patches  of  new  spring  green.  Thimble  Moun- 
tain was  not  very  high,  counting  from  the  sea 
level,  but  it  had  an  altitude  recorded  in  the 


2  KING'S   END 

imagination  of  the  dwellers  below.  They 
spoke  of  it  with  great  pride,  because  it  was  the 
only  considerable  height  in  an  undulating  coun- 
try. It  wore  the  moral  grandeur  of  inaccessi- 
ble peaks,  and  in  reality  some  of  the  features 
inseparable  from  high  and  lonely  fastnesses : 
purple  shadows  when  the  sun  was  sinking, 
frowning  stretches  quite  barren  in  all  seasons, 
and  one  or  two  rocks,  grotesque  in  imitative 
outline.  To  -  day  it  held  a  tranquil  guardian- 
ship ;  the  village  slept,  and  the  mountain 
watched  it.  The  world  below  there  was  always 
very  still;  yet  this,  by  some  coincidence  of 
travel,  was  an  hour  of  deepest  quiet.  Some 
of  the  women  had  gone  up  the  mountain  to  an 
outdoor  meeting,  held  by  Elder  Kent,  the  trav- 
eling preacher,  who  came  this  way  at  least  once 
a  year,  and  most  of  the  men  were  scattered 
fieldward,  following  the  plough. 

Old  Mrs.  Horner  lay  in  her  bed,  last  autumn 
set  up  in  the  clock-room,  and  gazed  with  fiery 
eyes  at  a  fly  buzzing  on  the  pane.  He  was  a 
herald  of  the  coming  tribe,  and  her  gaze,  fore- 
seeing the  summer  battle  which  would  be  of  no 
avail,  cursed  him  as  he  buzzed.  But  there  was 
no  one  to  kill  him  or  wave  him  forth.  Her 
husband  was  afield.  Big  Joan,  the  help,  had 
gone  into  the  marsh  for  cowslips,  and  she  her- 


KING'S  END  3 

self  was  still  unused  to  her  bedridden  state. 
The  tall  clock  ticked  as  maddeningly  as  the  fly 
buzzed.  Everything  in  the  room  had  its  chosen 
way  of  exasperating  her,  always  except  the  in- 
mate of  the  clumsy  wooden  cradle  close  beside 
the  bed.  This  was  a  fair-cheeked  baby,  sound 
asleep. 

Sally  Horner  smoothed  the  counterpane  with 
trembling  fingers,  and  then  retied  her  cap 
strings.  The  Bible  lay  beside  her  on  the  bed  ; 
she  gave  it  a  little  resentful  shove,  and  drew  it 
nearer  frowningly.  She  looked  up  with  chal- 
lenging inquiry  into  the  Constitution  mirror, 
tipped  so  as  to  reflect  her  bed,  and  the  picture 
she  saw  there  still  further  put  her  out :  a  thin 
face,  with  sanguine  skin  dried  to  a  durable  snuff- 
color,  a  sharp  nose,  sandy  hair  put  smoothly 
back  under  her  cap,  and  hot,  red-brown  eyes. 
This  was  one  of  her  nervous  days,  and  there 
was  no  one  near  to  note  it.  Not  a  sound,  save 
the  buzz  of  that  fly,  in  the  village,  the  town- 
ship, the  whole  world ! 

"  I  could  swear  ! "  remarked  Sally  Horner 
aloud. 

As  if  summoned  by  that  daring  potentiality, 
a  footstep  came  swiftly  along  the  path  to  the 
front  door.  It  was  a  man's  tread,  unhalting, 
rash.  Sally's  face  lighted  with  keen  inquiry. 


4  KING'S   END 

She  pushed  back  one  side  of  her  nightcap  and 
turned  her  head  to  listen.  Fear  was  unknown 
in  that  still  place,  but  curiosity  held  every 
hearthstone.  The  heavy  latch  clattered ;  then 
the  door  swung  open.  A  man  stepped  inside 
the  little  entry  and  faced  her,  framed  by  the 
casing.  Sally  Horner  uttered  a  scream. 

"  My  soul ! "  she  cried.  "  You  devil ! "  She 
raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  as  if  she  would 
get  out  of  bed,  and  thus  confronted  him.  They 
looked  at  each  other  in  an  enmity  silent  yet 
final,  a  declaration  of  war. 

The  man  was  a  typical  tramp,  in  absolute 
conformity  to  what  King's  End  pronounced  an 
awful  brotherhood.  Not  very  tall,  it  could  be 
seen  that  he  was  of  great  strength,  and  his 
arms  were  abnormally  long.  His  face  was  sal- 
low, surmounted  by  crisp  black  hair,  covered 
now  by  a  crow's-nest  of  a  hat.  His  close,  full 
beard  curled  tightly,  and  his  eyes  held  the  fire 
either  of  fanaticism  or  an  eccentricity  not  yet 
classified.  The  middle  part  of  his  face  be- 
trayed some  lack  of  natal  nobility ;  the  bridge 
of  the  nose  sank  too  deeply  under  the  domelike 
forehead,  and  the  cheek  bones  were  too  low. 
Still,  the  whole  visage  held  an  unusual  signifi- 
cance. He  carried  a  little  bundle  slung  over 
his  shoulder,  in  tramp  fashion,  and  his  shirt 


KING'S  END  5 

collar  was  open  and  thrown  loosely  away  from 
the  hairy  breast.  That  Mrs.  Horner  noticed, 
with  feminine  distaste. 

He  dropped  the  bundle  to  the  floor.  "  Well," 
said  he  gruffly,  "  I  've  come."  The  old  woman 
was  trembling.  He  noted  how  her  feet  shook 
the  counterpane,  and  his  face  softened.  "  Now, 
don't  be  scairt,"  he  added.  "I  never  hurt  any- 
body yet." 

"  Scairt !  "  snorted  Sally  Horner  passionately. 
"You  needn't  trouble  yourself.  Nobody's 
afraid  o'  you  here.  You  never  hurt  anybody, 
did  ye  ?  Who  killed  my  girl  ?  Who  toled  her 
away,  an'  let  her  'most  starve  to  death,  an'  then 
crawl  home  to  die?  Who  was  it  done  that? 
Who  drove  me  to  this  bed  with  grief  and  sor- 
rer  ?  Some  other  man,  I  s'pose ! " 

Obstinacy  settled  upon  his  face. 

"  I  met  Eph  Cummin's  along  the  road,"  he 
said.  "He  told  me  what  happened.  That's 
why  I  've  come.  I  've  come  to  see  —  the  baby." 

In  spite  of  himself,  his  voice  fell  upon  the 
last  word.  Some  of  the  tenderness  of  father- 
hood dwelt  timidly  there,  unconscious  of  itself. 
Mrs.  Horner  was  pulling  the  counterpane  aside 
with  one  trembling  hand,  and  dropping  it,  to 
fall  in  folds  upon  the  cradle. 

"You  want  to  see  the  baby?"  she  echoed, 


6  KING'S   END 

looking  him  in  the  eye  to  hold  his  gaze,  as  the 
mother  partridge  flutters  to  mislead  her  foe. 
"Well,  you  won't  see  her.  What  right  have 
you  got  to  lay  eyes  on  her  ?  If  you  'd  married 
my  girl,  you'd  ha'  been  the  child's  father;  but 
now  you  ain't  anybody.  You  're  less  'n  nobody. 
Get  out  o'  my  house,  an'  don't  you  never  darken 
these  doors  ag'in." 

Luke  Evans  had  many  enemies  within  the 
citadel ;  one  of  them  was  his  temper.  It  rose 
now,  like  the  taste  of  blood  in  the  throat. 

"  I  ain't  got  any  rights,  ain't  I  ? "  he  repeated 
savagely.  "  We  '11  see  'f  I  ain't.  I  'm  the  young 
one's  father.  What  have  you  got  to  say  to 
that?" 

A  little  responsive  sound  came  from  the  cra- 
dle, an  inarticulate  gurgling.  The  man  started, 
and  so  did  his  enemy,  —  she  in  terror  lest  her 
treasure  be  discovered,  he  with  a  strange  dis- 
taste for  that  dubious  being,  his  own,  yet  not 
his  own.  But  the  woman's  fear  inspired  her  to 
insane  attack. 

"  Get  out  o'  this  room ! "  she  cried,  oter  and 
over  again.  "  You  poor,  miserable  creatur' ! 
there  ain't  a  respectable  house  in  the  neighbor- 
hood that  would  take  you  in.  I  'd  be  ashamed 
to  have  you  found  here." 

Anger  rose  and  throttled  him  anew.     He 


KING'S  END  7 

strode  around  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  bent  over 
the  cradle  where  the  child  lay  in  placid  wak- 
ing ;  he  seized  it  from  its  nest,  and  held  it,  not 
untenderly,  to  his  bosom. 

"  If  your  house  is  too  good  for  me,  it 's  too 
good  for  my  folks,"  he  declared  doggedly. 
"  You  can  say  good-by  to  her.  She 's  comin' 
up  the  mountain  to  live  with  me."  He  stooped 
to  pick  up  his  bundle,  and,  grasping  it,  the 
child,  and  the  stick  in  some  uncouth  fashion, 
walked  out  of  the  door  and  up  the  road  toward 
his  waiting  home. 

For  a  moment  the  old  woman  lay  in  silence, 
stunned  by  the  magnitude  of  her  defeat.  She 
could  not  believe  that  anything  so  terrible  had 
happened;  yet  her  imagination  was  all  ready 
with  direful  possibilities.  It  meant  nothing 
short  of  murder  to  leave  that  innocent  baby  in 
the  hands  of  a  man  whom  she  felt  to  be  with- 
out conscience  or  heart.  She  lay  breathless 
upon  her  pillow,  hardly  knowing,  for  a  time, 
whether  she  herself  had  not  died.  Then,  as 
her  blood  resumed  its  flow,  there  came,  with 
quickened  action,  a  sense  of  the  necessity  of 
rescue,  and  she  began  shrieking  aloud,  calling 
impartially  upon  heaven  and  earth. 

"  Obed  !  "  she  screamed  to  her  husband,  yet 
knowing  it  was  hardly  time  for  him  to  be  home. 


8  KING'S   END 

"  Obed  !  Obed  !  he  's  killin'  the  baby  !  Help ! 
help  !  Murder !  My  God  !  my  God  !  " 

Meantime  Luke,  his  black  eyes  smouldering 
with  rage,  walked  furiously  along  the  road, 
facing  this  way  and  that  in  search  of  enemies. 
The  hand  of  every  man  was  against  him,  but 
he  did  not  care.  There  had  been  nights,  known 
only  to  God  and  the  stars,  when  he  had  lain 
face  downward,  in  the  same  dewy  fields,  and, 
clutching  the  earth  which  had  never  been  for 
him,  cried  a  man's  hot  tears  and  railed  against 
heaven.  But  to-day,  roused  by  the  palpable 
injustice  of  the  world,  he  heard  only  the  call  to 
battle,  and  armed  himself  to  keep  his  foothold 
because  it  was  denied  him.  But  there  were  no 
visible  foes  to  fight.  A  bluebird,  thinking  very 
hopefully  of  nests,  made  careless  paraphrases, 
though  not  to  him ;  and  stalwart  robins  called 
so  loudly  that  his  ears,  used  lately  to  city 
streets,  ached  with  a  delight  which  was  still 
half  homesickness.  He  passed  the  roadside 
smithy  where  he  had  built  up  a  brisk  little 
business  before  he  ran  away  with  Milly  Horner. 
It  was  closed,  like  his  house,  and  ferns  grew  to 
the  very  door.  He  thought,  with  some  dull 
distaste,  that  now,  burdened  by  a  child,  he  must 
blow  up  the  fire  and  get  to  work  again. 

All  this  time  he  had  not  looked  at  the  little 


KING'S   END  9 

warm  bundle  in  his  arms.  The  sense  of  his 
own  importance,  born  from  his  own  wrong, 
filled  the  visible  universe,  and  the  baby  was  no 
more  than  an  instrument  through  which  he 
meant  to  assert  his  enmity  to  the  scheme  of 
things.  And  so  he  climbed  the  slope,  the  more 
slowly  now  because  he  was  a  third  of  the  way 
up  the  mountain,  and  came,  not  without  a  tinge 
of  pleasure,  upon  his  own  little  dull  house  in  a 
roadside  nook.  Here  his  mother  had  lived  out 
her  anguished  life  with  the  husband  who  kicked 
both  her  and  Luke  impartially  ;  and  here  she 
had  died,  a  month  after  her  tyrant,  before  she 
could  reconstruct  her  poor  life  and  learn  what 
it  is  to  tread  the  earth  unterrified.  To  Luke, 
the  place  had  become  a  tragic  stage ;  not  one 
compensating  joy  had  ever  lighted  it.  He  had 
grown  up  there  in  endurance  of  misery  for  his 
mother's  sake  ;  but  daily  her  woe  and  his  own 
had  wrought  upon  and  then  corroded  him.  He 
caught  a  sharp  breath  at  sight  of  the  memory- 
haunted  spot,  and,  drawing  a  key  from  his 
pocket,  unlocked  the  door  and  went  in.  He 
dropped  his  stick  and  bundle  on  the  floor,  laid 
the  baby  on  an  old  calico-covered  lounge  in  the 
corner,  and  then  went  about  opening  windows. 
It  was  a  poor  place,  every  article  in  it  thread- 
bare from  use;  but  at  the  familiar  sight  and 


io  KING'S   END 

feel  of  things  he  settled  into  a  semblance  of 
content.  When  it  could  be  put  off  no  longer, 
he  turned  about,  like  one  summoned  to  an  ex- 
acting task,  went  over  to  the  lounge,  and  looked 
at  the  baby.  It  was  a  plump  baby,  very  blond 
and  sleek.  Luke  gazed  at  her  in  growing 
wonder  over  such  curves  and  dimples,  until  he 
caught  himself  murmuring,  — 

"  I  'm  glad  the  little  cuss  ain't  black,  like 
me!" 

But  his  side  of  the  question  was  not  the  only 
one;  for,  as  he  stared  at  the  baby,  the  baby 
stared  at  him.  He  became  vaguely  aware  that 
it  takes  two  to  make  a  partnership,  and  that  his 
daughter  had  got  to  be  reckoned  with.  When 
he  stole  her,  she  seemed  as  impersonal  as  a 
pillow;  but  here  she  was  with  a  soul  looking 
out  of  crystalline  eyes.  And  all  this  time  she 
had  not  cried. 

Luke  turned  away,  embarrassed,  and  began 
taking  some  bread  and  cheese  out  of  his  bundle. 
He  made  himself  busy  about  the  house,  where 
he  was  a  deft  workman  ;  but  in  the  back  of  his 
consciousness  lurked  all  the  time  a  sense  of  this 
alien  presence.  He  had  stolen  his  own  child ; 
but  what  was  he  going  to  do  with  her  ? 

An  hour  later,  a  few  stragglers  came  down 
the  mountain  road  from  the  meeting ;  but  none 


KING'S   END  II 

of  them  noticed  the  open  windows  in  the  little 
house.  For  one  thing,  the  heavy  lilacs  screened 
it  in  front ;  and  then  it  had  stood  so  long  unoc- 
cupied that  no  one  thought  of  glancing  thither. 
The  heads  of  the  women  were  together,  talking 
over  old  Elder  Kent,  telling  how  Miss  Julia,  his 
sister,  had  failed  since  the  last  revival,  and  how 
queer  it  was  he  should  only  pray  and  then  dis- 
miss the  meeting.  Nancy  Eliot  came  last,  all 
by  herself,  walking  with  her  head  high  and  her 
gaze  exalted.  She  had  taken  a  renewed  resolu- 
tion that  afternoon,  and  she  looked  upon  herself 
as  one  of  the  Lord's  anointed.  He  had  called, 
and  she  had  answered  Him. 

She  was  a  young  woman,  brilliant  with  the 
promise  of  a  beauty  not  yet  altogether  hers. 
Somewhat  thin,  according  to  the  type  of  lithe 
New  England  maids,  her  figure  was  stiaight, 
well-poised,  and  made  to  move  in  rhythm.  Her 
cheek's  pale  olive  wore  a  flush  that  afternoon, 
partly  from  rapid  walking,  and  again  because 
Elder  Kent  had  tpld  her  something  and  roused 
her  sympathetic  anger.  Her  eyes  were  as  dark 
as  eyes  can  be,  and  her  straight  hair,  braided  in 
an  imposing  coronal,  was  black  and  shining. 
At  first  you  might  have  said  her  features  were 
too  severe  for  an  alluring  beauty ;  but  let  her 
face  you,  and  you  would  see  that  her  upper  lip 


12  KING'S   END 

was  short  and  the  cleft  above  it  slightly  irregu- 
lar. Sometimes  it  betrayed  her  into  a  gleam  of 
white  teeth  when  she  had  not  meant  to  smile, 
and  always  it  declared  her  a  woman  to  be 
sought  and  followed. 

The  scent  of  the  lilacs  stole  out  to  her  be- 
guilingly,  and  partly  to  avoid  her  neighbors  but 
more  for  love  of  the  spring,  she  stepped  up  to 
the  lowest  bush  and  broke  a  branch.  Just  as 
she  put  it  to  her  face  the  shriek  of  an  exasper- 
ated baby  rent  the  air.  Nancy  started.  She 
knew  very  little  about  such  small  deer,  but  the 
maternal  instinct  slept  in  her,  ready  to  stir.  If 
she  had  heard  a  child's  cry  in  the  village  she 
would  have  walked  on  unconcerned ;  but  here, 
from  Luke  Evans's  old  house,  it  cut  the  still- 
ness like  a  plea  from  the  infinite,  and  she  could 
but  listen. 

For  a  whole  hour  the  baby  had  been  stupidly 
good ;  but  now,  as  time  wore  on,  and  no  warm 
milk  found  its  miraculous  way  into  an  ever- 
greedy  stomach,  it  lifted  up  the  wail  of  the  in- 
jured, and  would  not  be  comforted.  Luke  had 
spent  that  nervous  interval  in  pottering  about 
the  house,  and,  whenever  it  was  possible,  turn- 
ing his  back  upon  his  daughter ;  now  even  he 
became  aware  that  something  must  be  done. 
So  when  Nancy,  flushed  and  sweet  above  her 


KING'S   END  13 

lilacs,  stepped  in  at  the  open  door,  he  was  on 
his  knees  by  the  lounge,  groaning  "My  gra- 
cious, don't !  O  my  Lord  !  don't !  "  And  the 
baby  was  bursting  with  a  crimson  rage  -still 
deepening  into  purple.  Nancy  might  not  un- 
derstand the  rules  of  the  game,  but  she  had  an 
absolute  certainty  at  that  time  that  she  was 
called  of  the  Lord  to  meet  any  given  emer- 
gency;  so  she  marched  forward,  dropped  her 
lilacs,  and  took  up  the  baby,  blushing  as  she  did 
so,  —  for  she  realized  that  any  poor  married 
woman,  not  of  heaven's  elect,  would  know  bet- 
ter than  she  how  a  child  ought  to  be  handled. 
Luke  rose  to  his  feet.  They  had  been  school- 
mates, but  at  that  instant  she  seemed  to  him  a 
delivering  angel.  . 

"Oh,  Nancy,"  he  inquired  abjectly,  "ain't  it 
awful  ? " 

Nancy  was  already  walking  up  and  down, 
with  the  child  on  her  shoulder.  She  cast  him 
a  glance  in  turning.  It  was  sternly  reproachful 
and  meant  to  cover  any  possible  case. 

"  I  should  think  it  was  awful,"  she  com- 
mented. "  Whose  baby  is  it  ?  " 

"  Mine ! " 

"Yours?"  A  flush  broke  redly  upon  her 
cheek,  and  for  an  instant  he  thought  she  was 
going  to  relinquish  the  child. 


14  KING'S   END 

"  You  have  n't  any  right  to  her  at  all,"  she 
announced.  "I'm  going  to  take  her  straight 
down  to  her  grandmother." 

The  old  hatred  flashed  out  upon  his  face  and 
wiped  away  the  softness  born  to  welcome  her. 
He  placed  himself  swiftly  before  the  door. 

"  No,  you  ain't,"  he  said  doggedly.  "  That 's 
my  property,  an'  you  don't  leave  the  room  with 
it." 

"  But  you  were  n't "  —  Nancy  hesitated,  and 
her  cheeks  flamed  ruddily. 

"We  wa'n't  married,"  supplemented  Luke. 
"  No,  we  wa'n't ;  but  I  'm  that  young  one's 
father,  an'  she  belongs  to  me." 

Nancy  could  not  gainsay  it ;  but  as  she  paused 
by  the  door,  the  baby  lifted  an  inexorable  voice. 
So  she  hastily  fell  under  tyranny,  and  resumed 
her  walk. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  she 
said.  "All  is,  I  can't  hear  anything  cry  so." 

Then  there  befell  Luke  one  of  the  changes 
which  had  caused  Milly  Horner  to  see  his 
warmer  nature  and  to  love  him. 

"  Oh,  Nancy! "  he  said,  "  I  '11  tell  you,  because 
you  never  treated  me  as  if  I  was  the  dust  under 
your  feet.  I  'd  have  told  Mis'  Horner,  only  she 
made  me  mad.  Don't  you  see,  Milly  didn't 
want  to  be  married  any  more  than  I  did  ?  We 


KING'S   END  15 

were  just  as  honest  and  just  as  good  as  husband 
and  wife,  but  we  did  n't  think  marryin'  was 
right." 

Nancy  looked  icily  away  from  him.  "  I  don't 
want  to  hear  about  such  things,"  she  said. 
"  You  were  wicked  to  teach  them  to  her,  and 
you  're  wicked  to  stand  up  for  them." 

But  Luke,  from  an  aching  heart,  was  con- 
scious only  of  the  strange,  new  relief  of  open- 
ing his  lips  and  speaking  the  bitterness  pent  up 
behind  them. 

"  No,  you  can't  understand  it,  an'  you  never 
would,  unless  you'd  lived  the  same  life  as  I 
have.  My  mother  had  two  husbands,  an'  they 
both  abused  her,  my  father  an'  t'other  devil. 
You  've  heard  him  called  Old  Larrups.  An'  I 
swore,  when  I  was  a  boy,  I  never  'd  marry  a 
woman  an'  let  her  feel  she  wa'n't  free.  She 
should  leave  me  whenever  she  got  ready." 

Nancy  was  still  pacing  the  floor,  paying  an 
ostentatious  attention  to  the  child,  but  he  could 
see  that  she  was  listening. 

"  I  told  Milly  so,"  he  went  on,  in  the  passion- 
ate warmth  of  self-pity,  "  an'  she  liked  me,  an' 
she  said  keepin'  true  to  each  other  was  better 
than  if  we  'd  promised  it.  She  knew  I  did  n't 
believe  in  ministers  an'  the  Bible  an'  "  — 

"  If  you  are  going  to  say  you  don't  believe  in 


16  KING'S   END 

God,"  said  Nancy,  with  accusing  lips,  "I  shall 
go.  It 's  blasphemy,  and  it 's  wicked  for  me  to 
listen." 

"  An'  I  made  her  happy,  Nancy,  truly  I  did ! 
but  I  lost  my  place,  an'  then  I  had  to  leave  her, 
an'  find  another,  an'  she  went  kind  o*  crazy  with 
the  baby  comin'  an'  all,  an'  run  away  home. 
An'  then  you  see  I  'd  got  work,  but  I  could  n't 
make  enough  to  send  for  her  to  come  on ;  an' 
when  I  was  'most  wore  out  waitin'  to  hear  from 
her,  I  give  up  my  job  an'  went  back,  an*  there 
were  the  letters  I  'd  sent  her,  —  an'  the  money 
in  'em,  —  an'  she  gone !  An'  a  note  from  old 
Mis'  Horner,  cussin'  me,  an'  sayin'  Milly  was 
dead.  So  I  did  n't  come  here  till  I  got  sick  o' 
livin',  an'  then  I  did,  an'  there  was  the  baby." 
His  voice  broke,  and  he  put  his  hands  to  his 
eyes. 

"  Oh,  don't ! "  cried  the  girl  swiftly.  "  Here ! 
take  this."  She  pressed  her  handkerchief  into 
his  fingers,  and  began  singing  to  the  child. 
Luke  looked  at  the  little  square  of  linen  and 
then  put  it  down  on  the  table.  He  dashed  at 
his  eyes  furtively  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  and 
laid  his  passion  by. 

"  Here,  Nancy,"  he  said  gently,  "you  let  me 
take  it.  I  see  how  you  do  it.  I  '11  walk  a  spell." 

The  baby  had  subsided  into  an  exasperated 


KING'S   END  17 

silence,  and  Nancy  placed  her  in  his  out- 
stretched arms. 

"  Got  a  bowl? "  she  asked,  "  or  a  pitcher?  I  '11 
take  this  yellow  nappy.  And  don't  you  say  any 
more  wicked  things.  I  won't  listen  to  'em.  I 
suppose  you  get  'em  out  of  there ! "  She  turned 
scornfully  to  a  shelf  of  books  by  the  mantel,  and 
Luke  followed  her  gaze  most  humbly.  Then 
she  sped  out  of  the  door  and  was  back  again 
before  long,  bearing  the  nappy  daintily,  for  it 
was  full  of  milk. 

Her  face  was  flushed  now  with  the  happy 
excitement  of  a  clever  thought  well  executed. 
She  looked  very  womanly. in  her  pretty  haste. 

"  You  sit  down  and  hold  her,"  she  directed 
him.  "  Maybe  I  can  feed  her  out  of  a  spoon." 

Luke,  quite  overcome  by  the  rapid  changes 
in  the  situation,  obeyed  with  meekness.  He 
took  the  old  rocker,  and  held  the  child  flat  upon 
his  knees,  loosely  but  resolutely  pinioning  her 
hands  in  one  of  his,  with  some  idea  of  her  po- 
tency to  outwit  him.  Nancy  knelt  before  them 
and  administered  milk  from  a  spoon.  When 
the  child  swallowed  conformably,  she  could  not 
help  looking  up  at  Luke  with  a  smile  which  he 
was  ready  to  answer ;  and  when  it  choked,  they 
felt  the  tragedy.  Sometimes  the  milk  ran  in 
little  runnels  into  the  creasy  neck ;  but  it  did 


i8  KING'S   END 

come  about  finally  that  the  deed  was  accom- 
plished  and  the  baby  at  rest.  Nancy  rose,  sigh- 
ing with  relief.  She  set  the  nappy  on  the  table 
and  wiped  the  front  of  her  dress. 

"  Now  I  must  go,"  she  said  decisively.  "  I 
guess  she  ought  to  have  some  more,  pretty 
soon.  You  can  warm  what 's  left." 

Luke  looked  at  her  in  helpless  dismay.  They 
had  seemed  so  truly  companions  in  fighting  a. 
common  misfortune  that  he  had  forgotten  what 
it  would  be  to  meet  the  situation  alone.  An 
old  hunger  stirred  in  him,  older  even  than  his 
love  for  Milly,  and  never  really  recognized  be- 
cause Nancy  Eliot  was  the  chosen  of  another 
man.  Against  his  will,  he  spoke  with  an  invol- 
untary jealousy :  — 

"  I  heard  hammerin'  at  the  new  house  when 
I  come  along.  I  s'pose  it 's  'most  ready  for  you 
to  move  into." 

She  was  angry  at  once,  and  for  some  reason 
her  anger  pleased  him. 

"  I  'm  not  going  into  any  new  houses,"  she 
answered. 

A  warmth  of  relief  enfolded  him,  and,  moved 
by  it  unawares,  he  smiled.  When  had  he 
smiled  before  to-day  ? 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  marry  him  ? "  he  ven- 
tured, watching  her. 


KING'S   END  19 

"I'm  not  going  to  marry  anybody,"  said 
Nancy,  not  sharply,  as  she  wished  to  speak,  but 
with  the  dignity  of  one  set  aside  for  loftier  pur- 
poses. "  Now,  are  you  going  to  feed  her  when 
I'm  gone?" 

"Do  they  have  to  eat  often?"  he  asked 
weakly. 

"  Yes  ;  I  don't  know  how  often,  but  they  do. 
And  they  have  to  have  one  cow's  milk.  This 
was  old  Specky's.  Our  cows  are  up  here  in  the 
mountain  pasture.  You'd  better  milk  her 
again,  before  they  're  driven  down.  She 's  the 
only  one  with  nubs  on  her  horns.  I  '11  tell  mo- 
ther I  told  you  to." 

"  If  I  do  that,  I  '11  pay  for  it ;  I  've  got  money. 
But,  Nancy,  how  often  has  she  got  to  eat  ? " 

Put  to  the  test,  Nancy  hedged  a  little. 

"  I  '11  ask  mother  to  come  up  after  supper," 
she  promised  haltingly.  "  If  she  can't  come, 
I  '11  find  out  and  come  myself." 

She  turned,  in  swift  decision,  and  walked  out 
of  the  house.  Only  the  lilacs  were  left,  and 
Luke  had  stepped  on  them  in  his  perfunctory 
marching.  Absently  he  lifted  them  and  inhaled 
their  fragrance,  while  the  baby  looked  at  him 
vacuously. 

Meantime  Nancy,  feeling  the  vitality  of  the 
world  and  certain  that  she  was  very  much 


20  KING'S  END 

needed  in  it,  stepped  hastily  on  down  the  hill ; 
but  she  had  not  gone  far  when  Fate  knocked 
again  at  the  door.  A  young  man  was  lounging 
against  the  stone  wall,  and  from  the  haste  with 
which  he  came  forward  at  sight  of  her,  evi- 
dently waiting  for  that  very  purpose.  He  was 
extremely  handsome  in  an  old-fashioned  way, 
with  the  distinguished  nose  and  well-cut  lips  of 
some  young  patriot  of  an  elder  time,  though  a 
humorous  quirk  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  re- 
leased him  from  the  burden  of  too  great  a  des- 
tiny. His  heavy  light  hair  was  brushed  straight 
back  from  his  forehead.  Nancy  was  conscious 
of  a  thrill  at  sight  of  him,  and  frowned  at  her 
own  pulses.  It  was  only,  she  reflected  then, 
because  he  looked  so  much  like  the  pictures  in 
the  history,  not  in  the  least  because  she  liked 
him. 

"'Afternoon,  Nancy,"  he  called,  with  a  bluff 
lack  of  ceremony.  "  You  're  late.  All  the  folks 
went  by  half  an  hour  ago.  I  begun  to  think 
you  must  be  among  the  goats." 

"  I  was  —  detained,"  said  Nancy  briefly, 
hardly  looking  at  him  now. 

She  was  going  on  when  he  called,  "  Wait  a 
minute,"  with  a  half-veiled  authority,  to  be  re- 
sented and  then  obeyed.  "  I  want  you  to  come 
up  to  the  new  house.  I  Ve  got  to  ask  you  some- 


KING'S   END  21 

thing.  The  workmen  can't  go  ahead  till  they  're 
told." 

"  The  idea ! "  cried  Nancy.  "  I  don't  know 
anything  about  houses." 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do,"  he  returned,  with  confi- 
dence. "  You  know  this.  A  man  could  n't 
settle  it." 

"  Then  ask  your  mother." 

"  Mother 's  in  a  tantrum.  I  have  n't  spoken 
a  word  to  her  for  a  week.  She  won't  put  up  her 
ear  trumpet.  Come  along,  Nancy,  or  I  shall 
have  to  tell  the  carpenters  why  they  Ve  got  to 
knock  off." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Nancy,  trying  to  act  as  if 
she  acceded  of  her  own  free  will.  "  If  I  can  be 
of  any  assistance  to  you ! " 

Martin  Jeffries  smiled.  He  knew  her  habit 
of  using  long  words  when  she  was  offended  or 
when  she  was  afraid  of  him,  and  either  mood 
was  better  than  a  calm  estate.  He  turned  with 
her  into  a  grass-grown  driveway  at  the  right, 
and  they  went  on  in  silence.  At  the  end  of  its 
winding  length  was  the  cellar  of  the  old  Whit- 
tredge  estate,  and  this  spring  Martin  had  bought 
the  place  and  begun  to  put  up  a  new  house. 
Even  at  this  stage  it  looked  very  dignified  and 
comfortable,  built  with  simplicity  on  a  colonial 
model.  They  went  up  the  rough  steps  together, 


22  KING'S   END 

and  he  offered  his  hand  to  help  her  over  the 
sill.  But  it  was  an  unnecessary  courtesy,  and 
she  refused  it,  gathered  her  skirts  away  from  the 
shavings,  and  stepped  into  a  broad  hall,  illu- 
mined now,  in  the  mellowness  of  new  wood,  by 
the  sunset  light  traveling  through  from  the 
front  door  to  the  back.  The  clean  smell  of 
lumber  pervaded  it,  and  a  girl  who  had  gone 
there  with  her  lover,  knowing  the  house  was  for 
them,  ,would  have  looked  her  delight.  Even 
upon  Nancy  a  new  tranquillity  seemed  suddenly 
to  fall.  She  felt  more  at  rest,  as,  even  though 
unconsciously,  she  always  did  when  Martin  was 
near. 

"  It 's  about  the  kitchen  I  wanted  to  ask 
you,"  he  said  indifferently.  "  But  come  in  here 
a  minute  first.  The  parlor  fireplace  is  done. 
Like  it  ? " 

It  was  capacious,  deep,  and  delightful  in  sim- 
plicity. Two  iron  firedogs  stood  ready,  and 
Nancy  noted  the  carefully  laid  sticks,  birch  with 
curling  bark,  over  a  foundation  of  cones. 

"  Why,  you  Ve  fixed  a  fire  !  "  she  said  in  sur- 
prise. 

"  Yes,"  returned  Martin  carelessly.  He  was 
striking  a  match.  "  Light  it  while  I  sweep 
these  shavings  away.  Let 's  see  if  it  draws." 

He  stepped  behind  her,  but  without  sweeping 


KING'S   END  23 

at  all.  Instead,  he  looked  down  upon  her  while 
she  knelt,  with  a  swift,  feminine  motion,  and  set 
the  match  to  the  wood.  Flames  darted  glori- 
ously and  curled  about  the  birch,  and  Nancy, 
forgetful  of  the  place,  knelt  still  and  dreamed 
about  the  future.  But  it  was  of  herself  alone 
she  dreamed,  and  of  what  she  was  pleased  to 
think  God  wished  her  to  do.  A  long  sigh  star- 
tled her.  She  rose  in  haste,  to  find  Martin 
watching  her  with  passionate  eyes.  Involunta- 
rily she  retreated,  and  her  own  glance  hardened. 
It  turned  her  icy  when  he  looked  at  her  like 
that. 

"  There,  dear,"  he  murmured,  "  you  did  it  for 
me.  Don't  you  see  why  ?  They  wanted  to  heat 
up,  to  dry  off,  but  I  could  n't  have  it  done  till 
you  'd  lighted  your  own  fire  first.  In  your  own 
house,  Nancy  !  "  He  stretched  out  his  arms  to 
her  as  if  sure  she  would  come  to  them.  That 
strange  authority  invariably  made  her  flee.  Her 
"  no  "  meant  nothing.  He  turned  it  into  "  yes." 

"  Then  it  was  only  a  trick,"  she  said  angrily. 
"  You  pretend  to  like  me,  and  you  torment  me 
all  you  can." 

He  was  still  gazing  at  her,  that  dreamy  invi- 
tation in  his  eyes.  His  hands  fell. 

"  Oh  no,  dearest !  "  he  said.  "  Only  you 
loiow  you  're  going  to  live  here  with  me  in  this 


24  KING'S   END 

very  house.  Why,  even  the  house  knows  ! 
Two  winters  ago  when  I  cut  the  lumber,  cold 
days  up  on  the  mountain,  I  used  to  tell  the  trees. 
Then  while  the  boards  were  seasoning,  I  sat  on 
them  and  smoked  and  talked  about  it.  And 
now  you  've  lit  your  own  fire ! " 

Nancy  trembled.  That  strange  tenderness 
of  his  always  frightened  her.  It  seemed  like 
none  of  the  men  there  in  the  village  who  went 
to  church  with  their  wives  and  shamefacedly 
called  them  "  she."  His  persecution  was  hate- 
ful to  her,  and  she  had  never,  since  her  earliest 
girlhood,  been  without  it.  But  now  some  sense 
that  the  situation  was  a  crucial  one  roused  her 
to  end  it. 

"  Look  here,  Martin  Jeffries,"  she  said,  "  if 
that 's  what  you  think  of  me,  you  might  as  well 
stop  thinking.  I  shan't  ever  marry  anybody." 

Two  bright  little  imps  were  smiling  in  his 
eyes.  "  Oh  no,  I  hope  not,"  he  said  soothingly, 
"  nobody  but  me.  I  ain't  anybody." 

Nancy  hardened  in  her  resolve.  "I'll  tell 
you  something,"  she  went  on,  "  only  you  must 
n't  tell.  I  have  n't  even  broken  it  to  mother 
yet.  When  Elder  Kent  goes  away  from  here, 
I  'm  going  with  him  and  Miss  Julia  —  to 
preach." 

His  eyes  opened  wide.     She  had  never  really 


KING'S   END  25 

surprised  him  before.  "  Holy  poker !  "  he  re- 
marked. "  What  for  ? " 

"  I  am  called,"  answered  Nancy,  with  a  cer- 
tain exaltation.  "  I  am  called  —  of  God." 

Martin  stood  very  silent  for  a  few  moments, 
looking  at  the  floor.  His  hands  were  in  his 
pockets  and  he  whistled  a  stave. 

"  I  've  often  wished  you  did  n't  have  so  much 
to  do  with  God,"  he  said  musingly.  "  It  ain't 
healthy." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  say  ain't,"  flashed 
Nancy,  from  the  sting  of  an  old  irritation. 

He  smiled  at  her  with  a  transforming  radi- 
ance. "  I  won't,  if  you  '11  stay  at  home  and  be 
a  good  girl." 

She  was  finding  her  way  to  the  door. 

"  I  've  had  it  in  mind  for  over  two  years," 
she  said,  —  "  ever  since  I  cherished  a  hope.  But 
I  couldn't  do  it  till  father's  old  debt  was  paid 
off.  Now  it 's  all  done  but  twenty  dollars,  and 
I  Ve  got  that  laid  by.  So  I  'm  going." 

"  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  mentioned  it,"  returned 
Martin  cheerfully,  kicking  stray  boards  out  of 
the  way  to  follow  her,  "  because  now  I  can  hurry 
up  the  house.  Of  course,  you  knew  I  'd  go  too." 

"  You  need  n't  say  anything  you  don't  mean," 
remarked  Nancy,  with  dignity. 

"  Oh,  I  mean  it  all  right !    You  're  leading 


26  KING'S   END 

me  an  awful  dance,  Nancy ;  but  when  we  're  old 
folks  and  sit  here  side  of  the  fire,  it  '11  be  some- 
thing to  mull  over.  Oh,  hold  on  a  minute  !  I 
want  you  to  look  into  the  kitchen  ;  I  do  truly. 
Should  you  rather  have  the  flour  barrel  in  the 
pantry,  or  a  little  cubby  built  for  it  in  one  cor- 
ner ? " 

"You  can  ask  your  mother,  or  whoever 's 
going  to  make  your  bread." 

She  went  swiftly  away  down  the  path,  and 
Martin  looked  after  her  until  she  neared  the 
turn ;  then  he  went  in  again,  because  she  was 
too  precious  to  be  watched  out  of  sight.  His 
face,  transfigured  by  emotion  which  there  was 
now  no  reason  for  concealing,  took  on  a  spiritual 
beauty  rare  enough  to  have  amazed  the  girl 
who  flouted  him.  He  was  quite  willing  that  she 
should  see  his  soul ;  yet  how  could  it  walk 
forth  in  the  eyes  of  scorn  ?  He  waited  musing 
by  the  fire  until  the  coals  had  smouldered,  and 
then  went  home  to  smile  in  a  different  way  at 
his  mother,  and  coax  her  into  some  sort  of  hu- 
man fellowship. 

Nancy  walked  away,  angrily  conscious  of  what 
she  called  her  lower  nature.  She  was  aware  of 
having  started  from  the  mountain  in  a  very  ele- 
vated frame  of  mind.  Luke  Evans  had  jarred 
it  but  little,  for  her  sense  of  beneficence  had 


KING'S   END  27 

carried  her  triumphantly  out  of  his  door ;  but 
Martin,  as  he  always  did,  had  contrived  to  set 
her  on  that  very  human  and  commonplace 
plane  which  she  was  always  trying  to  avoid. 
By  the  time  she  reached  the  good  old  farm- 
house where  she  and  her  mother  lived,  with 
Aunt  Lindy  to  keep  them  company,  she  was 
practically  cross ;  the  more  so  because,  when 
she  entered  the  kitchen,  no  supper  was  appar- 
ent, though  the  fire  was  burning  briskly,  and 
three  women  stood  there  in  the  attitude  of  gos- 
sip unfinished.  First  there  was  her  mother, 
tall,  gaunt,  with  smoothly  banded  black  hair  and 
long  gold  earrings,  then  Aunt  Lindy,  a  marvel 
of  contented  flesh,  and  Joan  Macpherson,  old 
Mrs.  Horner's  help,  the  bearer  of  tidings.  Joan's 
forbears  came  from  Prince  Edward's  Island,  but 
she  prided  herself  upon  being  Yankee  born,  and 
eradicated,  so  far  as  she  might,  all  the  tricks  of 
speech  to  which  ancestry  entitled  her.  She  was 
a  giantess,  with  red  hair,  —  a  woman  of  great 
endurance  and  a  canny  mind. 

"  So  she  screamed  herself  into  fits,  —  an'  that 
hoarse !  "  she  was  saying.  "  An'  Mr.  Horner 
an'  me  happened  to  get  there  the  same  time. 
'  Be  you  sick  ? '  says  he.  '  No,'  says  she.  '  The 
baby's  stole  an'  murdered.'  Then  I  minded 
how  I  dropped  my  dishcloth  this  mornin',  an'  I 


28  KING'S   END 

groaned.  She  tried  to  throw  the  Bible  at  me 
for  fear  I  'd  get  in  a  word  "  — 

"  The  Bible  !  "  ejaculated  Aunt  Lindy 
meekly,  casting  her  eyes  heavenward.  "  I 
want  to  know  ! " 

"  An'  she  would  have  it  Mr.  Horner  must 
gether  together  the  neighbors  an'  go  up  the 
mountain  an'  get  the  baby  back,  alive  or  dead. 
But  he  took  a  drink  out  o'  the  dipper  an'  said 
he  did  n't  know  how  the  law  lay,  an'  he  never 
heard  of  a  man  claimin'  that  kind  of  a  child  be- 
fore. But  if  he  wanted  it,  he  guessed  he  had  a 
right  to  it ;  an'  then  she  screamed  —  seems  if  I 
could  hear  her  now  !  —  an'  says  to  me, '  You  go 
over  to  Judge  Hill's  an'  ask  him  what  the  law 
is.' " 

"  I  guess  so  !  The  law ! "  repeated  Aunt 
Lindy  admiringly. 

"  I  started,"  said  Joan.  She  stood  in  statu- 
esque repose,  her  great  arms  folded.  "  I  met  a 
cat  on  the  way,  an'  I  never  turned  back.  A 
cat 's  bad  luck.  An'  when  I  got  to  Judge  Hill's 
he  'd  had  another  stroke  an'  two  doctors  over 
him.  So  I  come  home.  Then  Mis'  Horner  she 
made  me  carry  the  word  to  the  selec'men,  an' 
they  're  goin'  up  along  after  supper  to  see  if 
they  can  get  the  baby  away.  An'  that 's  where 
it  lays  now." 


KING'S   END  29 

"  Forever !  "  breathed  Aunt  Lindy. 

"Well,  I  never  heard  such  doin's  myself," 
said  Mrs.  Eliot,  "  trying  "  the  oven.  "  Nancy, 
you  set  the  table." 

Nancy  had  taken  off  her  hat,  and  stood,  very 
cool  and  superior,  by  the  three  agitated  women. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  she  only  grasped  the  sit- 
uation. 

"Mrs.  Horner  needn't  be  afraid  anything 
will  happen  to  the  baby,"  she  said.  "  I  Ve  just 
seen  it." 

"  Seen  it ! "  echoed  the  three  together,  Aunt 
Lindy  in  a  soft  staccato,  easily  overborne. 

"Yes;  I  heard  it  cry  when  I  came  along 
down.  So  I  went  in.  And  I  milked  old  Specky 
and  fed  it.  I  told  him  he  might  milk  Specky 
every  day,  mother,"  she  continued,  drawing  out 
the  table  and  beginning  to  spread  the  cloth. 
"I  thought  it  had  got  to  have  one  cow's  milk." 

She  seemed  to  make  the  transaction  a  matter 
of  course.  It  was  dizzying.  There  was  the 
baby  in  a  state  of  siege,  to  be  attacked  by  the 
selectmen  after  supper,  and  here  was  Nancy 
talking  about  one  cow's  milk.  Even  Big  Joan 
was  impressed.  She  turned  silently  away. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  Mis'  Horner,"  said  she,  and 
went  homeward.  Susan  Eliot  looked  at  her 
daughter  hopelessly,  as  she  often  did  when 


30  KING'S   END 

Nancy  took  unfamiliar  paths  with  no  apparent 
inkling  of  their  character. 

"  I  guess  the  baby  's  got  to  stay  there,"  con- 
tinued Nancy,  as  she  went  on  setting  the  table. 
"  I  promised  you  'd  come  up  after  supper  and 
tell  him  how  often  she  ought  to  be  fed." 

"Well,  I  guess  I  shan't,"  returned  Mrs. 
Eliot,  drawing  her  biscuit  tin  out  of  the  oven 
for  a  nearer  scrutiny.  "You  was  too  hasty, 
Nancy.  I  ain't  goin'  to  stir  up  any  kind  of  a 
neighborhood  brew." 

Long  before  reaching  her  present  stature, 
Nancy,  by  virtue  of  godly  living,  had  become 
the  head  of  the  house,  and  this  unexpected  re- 
volt was  amazing  to  her.  For  a  moment  she 
went  on  working,  with  a  little  irritated  flush 
upon  her  cheeks.  Then  she  said  rather  meekly, 
"I  asked  Elder  Kent  and  Miss  Julia  to  stay 
with  us.  Was  that  wrong,  too  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  of  course  not !  I  put  in  extry 
biscuits  a-purpose.  When  will  they  be  down 
along  ?  'Fore  supper  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  He  only  waited  to  talk  with  two 
young  men  from  Pillcott  way.  They  came  to 
make  a  disturbance.  He  's  had  an  awful  time, 
mother.  He  told  me  about  it.  They  had  him 
up  last  week  for  breaking  the  peace.  So  this 
time  he  only  prayed  and  sung." 


KING'S   END  31 

When  Mrs.  Eliot  went  into  the  shed  for  some 
light  wood,  Nancy  followed  her. 

"  Mother,  wait  a  minute,"  she  began.  "  Here, 
don't  pick  up  the  limbs  yet ;  I  want  to  speak  to 
you."  Mrs.  Eliot  confronted  her,  a  capable 
figure,  moulded  by  work  and  its  perplexities. 
"  Mother,  I  've  got  something  to  tell  you." 

She  was  so  moved,  in  some  subtile  way,  that 
Mrs.  Eliot  scented  the  secret,  and  gave  her  a 
reassuring  nod. 

"  Is  it  about  Martin  Jeffries  ? "  she  asked, 
from  that  shyness  with  which  the  women  of  the 
village  were  accustomed  to  treat  love  and  its 
outcome.  "  I  'm  real  pleased." 

Nancy's  softer  mood  settled  into  a  crystal. 
"'I  don't  know  why  it  should  be  about  Martin 
Jeffries,"  she  said  coldly.  "  It 's  got  nothing  to 
do  with  him.  It 's  only  that  I  've  promised 
Elder  Kent  to  go  off  with  them,  preaching.  I 
feel  called." 

Mrs.  Eliot  was  mechanically  holding  up  her 
apron  with  its  few  gathered  chips.  She  dropped 
it,  and  the  kindling  rattled  to  her  feet.  "  How 
long  do  you  mean  to  be  gone  ?  "  she  asked. 

Nancy  trembled  a  little.  "  Always,"  she  said. 
"  Mother,  I  am  called." 

"Well,  then,  that 's  all  there  is  about  it,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Eliot,  and  again  she  began  picking 


32  KING'S    END 

up  her  wood.  An  observer,  unused  to  the  ways 
of  New  England  life,  would  have  said  she  did 
not  care.  Nancy  saw  that  she  was  moved  to 
the  soul.  But  not  for  that  reason  could  she 
yield.  She  was  leaving  mother  and  home  for 
a  greater  sake,  and  warmer  even  than  any  filial 
pang  was  her  sense  of  being  set  apart  and  con- 
secrated. Yet  she  did  at  the  moment  feel  a 
passionate  sorrow  for  her  mother :  that  egotis- 
tical pity  of  youth  unable  to  conceive  how  age 
is  going  to  exist  without  the  solace  of  its  bright- 
ness. 

"  Oh,  mother !  don't  you  carry  the  wood ! 
You  let  me ! "  she  cried,  sweeping  the  load  from 
Susan's  apron  into  hers,  though  usually  she  ig- 
nored that  "  Irish  basket "  of  immemorial  usage. 
It  was  an  untidy  makeshift,  thought  Nancy. 

"I'm  afraid  the  oven  will  all  cool  off,"  said 
Mrs.  Eliot,  and  they  went  in  together,  sorrowful 
but  composed,  the  one  hungry  for  pity  and  yet 
not  putting  out  her  hand,  the  other  aching  with 
sympathy  and  unschooled  in  showing  it.  So 
the  preparations  for  supper  went  on,  and  when 
the  biscuits  were  overbrowned  in  waiting,  a  man 
and  woman  came  down  the  mountain  road  and 
stopped  at  the  door.  King's  End  was  familiar 
with  the  pair,  and  seeing  them  pass,  only  paused 
long  enough  at  the  window  to  remark,  "  There 


KING'S   END  33 

goes  the  Elder  and  Julia ; "  but  to  unaccustomed 
eyes  they  were  strollers  escaped  from  some  ec- 
centric stage.  Both  were  old,  and  both  were 
vigorous,  like  all  who  live  chiefly  in  sun  and 
wind.  The  man  was  slender  and  strong,  of  no 
great  height,  and  his  white  beard  fell  waving 
and  silky  almost  to  his  waist.  White  hair 
swept  back  from  his  great  forehead,  and  his 
nose  had  the  line  of  a  delicate  length.  Dark 
eyes  lay  almost  hidden  in  their  sockets,  shaded 
by  black  brows  so  thick  and  straight  that  their 
profile  haunted  you.  His  clothes  were  a  de- 
cent, shiny  black,  mended  with  such  exquisite 
workmanship  as  to  make  a  separate  art  of  darn- 
ing.  His  sister,  shorter  than  he,  was  yet  cast 
in  a  sterner  mould.  Her  nose  held  an  aquiline 
strength,  her  black  eyes  an  unresting  fire. 
Even  her  hair,  white  like  his  own,  was  coarser, 
and  curled  with  a  rough  and  willful  energy. 
She  too  wore  black,  preserved  with  the  same 
thrift.  The  thin  silk  of  her  visit e  was  darned 
in  many  places,  and  she  twisted  herself  from 
time  to  time  in  walking,  to  cast  an  anxious 
glance  at  a  new  rent  in  her  skirt,  where  the 
blackberry  thorns  still  clung.  She  carried  a 
neat  little  parcel,  and  he  an  old-fashioned  carpet- 
bag. This  was  their  traveling  gear  for  the  un- 
broken wandering  of  their  chosen  life. 


34  KING'S   END 

"  Dear  me  suz !  "  remarked  Susan,  when  they 
came  in  sight.  "Set  on  the  biscuits,  Nancy. 
I  'd  'most  give  'em  up." 

At  the  threshold  the  Elder  raised  his  hands 
in  benediction,  and  immediately  a  hush  fell  upon 
the  women  within.  Like  others  who  were  ac- 
customed to  his  eccentric  ways,  the  two  older 
ones  thought  lightly  of  him  as  "  half  -crazed," 
yet  they  could  never  free  themselves  from  the 
awe  of  his  presence. 

"Peace  be  upon  this  house!"  he  said,  and 
waited  while  his  sister  shook  hands  with  her 
hostess  and  Aunt  Lindy. 

"  I  hope  we  have  n't  put  you  out,"  she  said, 
with  a  smiling  grace.  She  was  used  to  making 
that  apology.  It  tripped  from  her  lips  now 
without  consideration.  The  Elder  kept  no  note 
of  times  and  seasons,  and  she  was  ever  trotting 
on  behind  him  to  keep  his  credit  by  a  melt- 
ing word.  Susan  was  far  too  conscientious  to 
protest,  but,  mentally  conceding  the  delay,  she 
added,  "  It  ain't  any  put-out  at  all,"  and  hurried 
them  off  to  their  bedrooms.  It  was  always 
more  or  less  exciting  to  entertain  the  Elder 
and  his  sister,  for  Miss  Julia  brought  pages  of 
harmless  gossip  from  a  dozen  villages,  and  re- 
tailed it  brightly.  She  it  was  who  earned  their 
daily  bread  by  such  social  garnishing,  as  well  as 


KING'S   END  35 

by  the  work  of  her  hands,  and  she  shrewdly 
knew  her  value.  Fidelity  to  the  Elder's  calling 
was  not  always  sufficient  to  buy  him  a  week's 
board  ;  but  few  housewives  could  resist  the  ap- 
peal of  Miss  Julia's  graces  and  her  practiced 
thrift. 

The  Elder,  withdrawn  in  meditation,  sat  in 
silence  through  the  meal,  and  Julia,  tasting  her 
tea  delicately,  seemed  the  great  lady  of  the  oc- 
casion, supping  by  gracious  accord  with  those 
to  whom  she  had  much  to  give.  Mrs.  Eliot 
asked  low-toned  questions  about  the  folks  at 
Cumnor,  and  Aunt  Lindy,  albeit  fond  of  "  sweet 
trade,"  forgot  to  pass  the  cake  in  her  desire  to 
hear  whether  plaits  or  gathers  were  worn  in 
Ryde.  But  Nancy  ate  her  supper  with  a  care- 
ful dignity,  copying  the  silence  of  the  man 
whom  she  had  elected  to  follow.  Every  mo- 
ment with  him  was  to  her  mind  instinct  with 
spiritual  charm.  After  supper  he  withdrew  to 
the  garden,  and  paced  up  and  down,  still  in 
meditation,  while  Mrs.  Eliot  told  Miss  Julia  the 
story  of  the  stolen  baby.  Nancy  spoke  no 
word,  but  when  the  tale  was  ended,  she  called 
from  her  dish-washing  at  the  sink  :  — 

"  Mother,  I  think  you  might  tell  me  what  to 
say  to  him  about  feeding.  I  'm  going  up,  after 
I  've  finished  these." 


36  KING'S  END 

"  I  declare,  Nancy,"  answered  her  mother, 
brushing  up  the  hearth,  "you  do  seem  to  be 
bewitched.  There  !  I  've  scorched  this  turkey 
wing,  an'  I  knew  I  should.  You  can  go  ask 
Mis'  Horner,  if  you  Ve  got  to  have  your  finger 
in  it.  I  ain't  goin'  to  interfere." 

"  I  said  I  'd  run  up  and  tell  him,"  returned 
Nancy,  with  that  sedateness  which  even  her 
adorers  found  exasperating ;  "so  I  must." 

"  Oh,  there  they  come !  there  they  come  !  " 
cried  Aunt  Lindy  huskily,  from  the  window. 
"There's  the  selectmen  an'  'most  the  whole 
township  with  'em." 

Perhaps  twenty  men  and  boys  were  strag- 
gling up  the  road,  led  in  a  self-conscious  ma- 
jesty by  two  selectmen,  the  third  being  away 
trading  cattle. 

"  There 's  William  Kane  an'  Owen  Henry," 
enumerated  Mrs.  Eliot  from  her  outlook,  "an' 
one,  two,  three,  four  —  well,  I  guess  most  o'  the 
neighborhood's  there.  I  wonder  the  women 
didn't  jine  in." 

"  I  wisht  they  had,"  murmured  Aunt  Lindy. 
"  I  could  n't  ha'  clim'  up  there  myself,  but  I  'd 
like  to  hear  Big  Joan  set  it  out  to-morrer." 

"  So  you  see,  Nancy,  you  need  n't  mix  your- 
self up  in  it,"  remarked  Susan  as  the  rout  went 
resolutely  by,  the  boys  a-grin  and  the  men  quite 


KING'S   END  37 

shamefaced  over  a  doubtful  quest.  "  You  see 
they  're  going  to  bring  the  baby  safe  home  to 
its  grandmother." 

"They  won't  get  it,"  said  Nancy.  "But  I 
shan't  go  up  till  they  've  gone  away." 

"  Don't  you  mind ;  she  shan't  go  alone," 
whispered  Miss  Julia,  nodding  at  Susan.  "  I  '11 
go  up  with  her  myself  after  this  to-do  is  over. 
There!  the  Elder's  seen  'em  and  joined  in. 
I  'd  full  as  lieve  's  he  'd  gone  to  bed  in  peace 
to-night."  Fine  lines  of  an  old  anxiety  wrinkled 
her  forehead,  and  she  craned  forward  to  watch 
them  out  of  sight. 

"He'll  pray  with  them  before  they  come 
home,"  said  Nancy  raptly.  "  That's  what  he 's 
going  to  do." 


II 

KING'S  END  knew  well  how  forlorn  a  hope  it 
led  in  charging  under  the  banner  of  these  two 
selectmen ;  for,  as  Eph  Cummings  said  at  start- 
ing, "  The  only  man  among  'em  was  the  one 
that  wa'n't  there."  Without  him,  the  office  had 
but  the  potency  of  a  "  wet  rag."  William  Kane, 
a  spare  farmer  with  a  lean,  stubbly  cheek  and 
sweeping  chin-beard,  was  the  apostle  of  expedi- 
ency. Owen  Henry  had  always  been  regarded 
with  distaste  by  the  fastidious,  because  of  his 
color,  dark  as  that  of  a  half-breed,  or,  as  Big 
Joan  supplemented  with  a  traveled  scorn,  "  one 
of  them  low  Canucks."  He  was  short  and  very 
square.  His  beard,  even  when  closely  shaven, 
seemed  to  have  dyed  his  cheeks,  and  the  coarse 
black  hair  rose  like  bristles  above  his  forehead. 
A  nice  man  enough,  said  the  village,  but  he  had 
n  't  got  much  "  seem  "  to  him.  Obed  Horner 
brought  up  the  rear,  a  little  fellow  with  a  round 
and  innocent  face  and  a  fringe  of  whisker. 
One  might  have  called  him  the  most  indifferent 
of  all ;  yet  his  mouth  worked  nervously,  and  his 


KING'S  END  39 

light  eyes  were  still  moist  with  tears.  After 
greeting  the  Elder,  they  tramped  on  up  the 
country  road,  all  the  more  aware,  in  their  silence, 
of  the  sounds  of  spring.  Frogs  were  still  peep- 
ing down  in  the  pond  below  the  turn,  and  two 
or  three  had  begun  the  long,  high  recitative  of 
newborn  love.  The  whippoorwill  cried  melo- 
diously from  a  neighboring  copse,  and  then 
whirred  nearer  and  cried  again. 

"  Consarn  them  birds  !  "  said  Eph  Cummings. 
He  was  a  citizen  so  soft-hearted  as  not  willingly 
to  "  hurt  a  fly."  "  I  wish  all  the  whippoorwills 
in  the  State  o'  New  Hampshire  had  one  neck 
an'  I  could  wring  it." 

"Bad  sign!"  agreed  William  Kane  in  his 
soothing  cadence.  "  Yes,  I  've  al'ays  heerd  so. 
Bad  sign ! " 

"  I  should  n  't  care  what  it  *s  a  sign  of,  if  I 
could  make  'em  shet  up,"  said  Eph.  Then  be- 
coming aware  that  a  younger  generation  was 
listening,  he  added  hastily,  "  There !  there  ! 
boys,  don't  you  never  touch  'em.  I  guess  they 
don't  do  no  hurt." 

The  little  black  house  was  in  sight  now,  and 
the  scent  of  lilacs  lay  upon  the  air. 

"He  ain't  got  no  light,"  whispered  a  boy. 
But  the  windows  were  open,  though  the  door 
had  long  been  locked.  The  selectmen  halted, 


40  KING'S  END 

and  their  guard  shuffled  to  a  pause.  The  Elder* 
still  in  the  rear,  lifted  his  hands,  and  his  lips 
formed  in  the  darkness  the  inaudible  benedic- 
tion, "  Peace  be  upon  this  house ! " 

"  Coin'  in  ? "  asked  Owen  of  his  colleague,  in 
a  stertorous  whisper.  William  Kane  scraped 
his  lean  cheek  and  caressed  his  beard. 

"  Might  as  well  knock  on  the  door,"  he  re- 
marked. "  That  can't  do  no  hurt." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cracked  a  voice  from  the  win- 
dow. The  men  in  advance  fell  back  upon  the 
feet  behind  them.  But  courage  was  not  extinct 
here  in  King's  End.  The  dignity  of  the  law 
revived,  and  the  deputation  swayed  forward. 
William  Kane  nudged  his  companion,  but  Owen 
only  breathed  loudly  in  reply.  So  William 
essayed  the  onslaught. 

"That  you,  Luke?"  he  called  cheerfully. 
"  That  you  ?  Well,  I  declare !  Got  home,  ain't 
ye?" 

The  dark  was  coming  quickly,  but  they  could 
discern  the  outline  of  a  head  at  the  window.  A 
boy  said  afterwards  that  its  eyes  were  live  coals, 
"jes'  like  a  cat's."  '  But  that  evidence  was 
never  heeded,  save  by  one  credulous  mother. 

"  What 's  the  meanin'  o'  this  ? "  called  Luke 
sharply.  "  What  you  all  up  here  for  ? " 

Obed  Horner  had  lingered  in  the  background. 


KING'S   END  41 

He  was  a  shy  man,  and  the  disgrace  of  his 
daughter's  return  seemed  to  him  cruelly  aug- 
mented by  this  further  scandal  But  now  des- 
peration provoked  him  to  speech,  and  he 
pressed  forward. 

"  I  '11  tell  ye  what 's  the  matter,  Luke  Evans," 
he  asserted  passionately.  "  You  've  stole  a  baby 
out  o'  my  house,  an'  we've  come  up  here  to 
carry  it  home  ag'in.  An'  here 's  the  selec'men 
an'  all." 

Even  the  childishness  of  this  last  appeal  could 
not  entirely  efface  its  dignity.  Obed  loved  the 
baby,  perhaps  more  tenderly  than  if  it  had  come 
into  the  world  well  heralded.  He  was  a  par- 
tisan. 

"  The  baby  's  mine,"  returned  Luke.  "  I  'm 
her  father.  Anybody  got  anything  to  say 
ag'inst  a  man's  claimin'  his  own  child  ? " 

Obed  pressed  close  to  the  selectmen. 
"  Can't  you  answer  suthin'  ? "  he  whispered 
desperately. 

Silence  fell,  and  then  the  whippoorwill,  flying 
nearer,  began  his  flouting  in  their  very  ears. 

"  Consarn  that  bird ! "  muttered  Eph  again. 
"  Can't  some  o'  you  boys  creep  round  the  back 
o'  the  shed  an'  kind  o'  shoo  him  away  ? " 

But  not  even  a  boy  would  forego  the  fearful 
joy  of  the  coming  dialogue.  So  still  was  it  that 


42  KING'S   END 

each  man  could  hear  his  neighbor  breathing. 
Two  or  three  could  count  the  thumping  of  their 
hearts. 

"  Well,  now,  Luke,"  said  William  Kane,  in  a 
lively  manner,  "  there  ain't  a  mite  o'  use  takin' ' 
it  hard,  all  among  neighbors  so,  —  but  it 's  un- 
derstood—  it's  been  understood  for  quite  a 
while  —  that  you  an'  Milly  wa'n't  man  an' 
wife." 

"  You  can  understand  it  all  over  ag'in,"  re- 
turned Luke,  unmoved.  "We  wa'n't  married. 
An'  this  baby's  ourn." 

The  Elder  came  suddenly  forward  and 
stepped  close  up  to  the  window,  from  which 
the  others  were  keeping  at  a  prudent  length. 
His  face  was  on  a  level  with  the  visage  within. 

"  But  now,"  he  said,  "  you  are  ready  to  marry 
her,  poor  girl !  " 

Obed  Horner  pressed  forward  a  step,  a  sob 
in  his  throat.  " She's  dead,  Elder,"  said  he, 
like  a  child.  "  My  girl 's  dead.  It 's  too  late  to 
make  it  up  to  her  ;  she  's  dead  an'  gone." 

Luke  also  felt  the  pathos  of  the  moment ;  it 
stirred  him  to  a  deeper  rage.  He  was  conscious 
of  the  dumb  protest  of  one  who  has  taken  a 
stand  against  the  world  only  because  the  world 
has  forced  him  into  it.  Here  he  stood,  at  bay 
against  his  judges. 


KING'S   END  43 

"  Yes,  she 's  dead,"  he  agreed  bitterly.  "  An' 
if  she  was  alive,  she  'd  been  glad  enough  to  stan* 
here  with  me  an'  face  the  whole  pack  on  ye. 
Now  look  here !  if  a  child 's  born  out  o'  wedlock, 
don't  ye  go  round  tryin'  to  find  a  father  for  it 
an'  make  him  support  it  ?  Well,  you  ain't  had 
to  hunt  much  for  me.  I  'm  here.  An'  I  say 
this  is  my  child,  an'  I  'm  goin*  to  take  care  of  it 
an'  bring  it  up ;  an'  if  anybody  gits  in  my  way, 
let  him  stand  from  under !  That 's  all." 

The  Elder  put  out  his  hand. 

"Good  for  you,  brother,"  he  said  warmly. 
"You  speak  like  a  man." 

Luke,  prepared  only  for  warfare,  stared  at 
him,  and  Obed  Horner  gave  a  little  dissuading 
cry:- 

"Look  here,  Elder,  you'll  upset  the  whole 
b'ilin'  !  You  let  the  selec  'men  speak." 

But  the  selectmen  were  not  ready,  whereas 
Luke  had  his  argument  prepared. 

"  I  've  loaded  my  old  musket,"  he  continued 
grimly.  "  She  sets  right  here  in  this  corner ; 
an'  if  anybody  tries  to  break  into  my  house  an' 
interfere  with  my  family,  I  '11  open  on  'em. 
That  's  all  I  've  got  to  say.  What  's  mine's 
mine.  You  let  me  alone,  an'  I  '11  let  you  alone." 

The  Elder  faced  rapidly  about.  "  Friends," 
said  he,  "  the  man  may  not  be  right  according 


44  KING'S  END 

to  law,  but  he  thinks  he  is  right.  He  means  to 
do  his  duty  by  his  own.  He  hopes  to  make  up 
to  the  child  what  he  owed  the  mother." 

"  It 's  no  such  a  thing ! "  called  Luke,  exas- 
perated by  a  predicament  from  which  he  was 
too  obstinate  to  withdraw.  "  I  've  got  nothin' 
to  make  up.  I  done  my  best  by  Milly  Horner, 
an'  I  come  back  to  King's  End  as  peaceable  as 
a  lamb.  Eph  told  me  about  the  baby,  an'  I 
meant  to  look  at  it,  an'  then  foot  it  up  here,  an* 
crawl  into  a  hole  an'  suck  my  claws.  An'  if  old 
Mis'  Horner  'd  ha'  treated  me  decent,  I  'd  ha' 
done  it.  But  you  can't  call  a  man  a  dog  an'  he 
not  snap  at  ye.  So  I  've  took  my  stan',  an'  I  'm 
goin'  to  hold  to  it ;  an'  anybody  't  interferes 
with  me  '11  git  a  charge  o'  shot."  His  face  faded 
away  from  the  dusky  square,  and  they  heard 
him  stepping  about  within.  No  one  moved,  but 
Owen  Henry  and  William  Kane  whispered  to- 
gether. The  face  appeared  again  at  the  window. 

"  It 's  gittin'  late  for  callers,"  remarked  Luke 
dryly.  "  I  guess  it 's  time  for  you  folks  to  dis- 
perse. If  you  don't,  I  may  have  to  disperse  ye." 
And  King's  End,  still  headed  by  its  selectmen, 
turned  about  and  followed  the  example  of  the 
King  of  France. 

But  the  Elder  stayed.  He  fell  on  his  knees 
there  by  the  cinnamon  rosebush  near  the  door. 


KING'S   END  45 

Luke  stood  at  the  window  and  looked  down 
upon  the  white  head  uplifted  toward  the  night. 
His  lips  curled  with  the  scorn  of  one  who 
watches  an  innocent  mummery.  As  the  Elder 
rose,  Luke  stepped  softly  away  from  the  win- 
dow, having  had  enough  of  talk  ;  but  the  old 
man,  not  regarding  him,  walked  broodingly  into 
the  dark.  He  did  not,  like  the  others,  return 
to  the  village  ;  he  climbed  the  mountain  slope 
to  a  pasture  which  was  wont  to  be  his  place  of 
meditation.  Stars  and  great  sky  spaces  were 
his  counselors.  He  remembered  Him  who 
went  into  a  mountain  apart. 

Meantime  the  little  train,  on  its  way  downhill, 
talked  not  at  all,  though  the  boys,  forgetting 
even  to  scuffle  or  to  exchange  more  than  a  fur- 
tive cuff,  cast  inquiring  glances  at  their  elders. 
Obed  at  his  gate  turned  for  an  instant,  and 
lamented,  like  an  injured  child : — 

"An'  Owen  Henry  never  spoke  one  word! 
Neighbors,  I  'm  obleeged  to  ye." 

Then  he  sought  his  wife,  and  sat  by  her  bed- 
side all  night,  silent  but  mindful  of  her  ungov- 
erned  grief.  Joan  Macpherson  she  would  not 
have.  Her  red-brown  eyes  distended  in  hyster- 
ical anguish.  She  talked  incessantly,  and  Obed 
afterwards  at  his  work  used  sometimes  to  shud- 
der over  the  memory  of  her  ravings. 


46  KING'S   END 

"Well,  Lord  have  mercy  on  us,"  he  would 
say,  straightening  himself  to  lean  on  his  hoe 
and  look  at  the  ground,  trying  anew  to  be  con- 
vinced that  his  God  was  one  who  remembereth 
that  we  are  dust. 

Nancy  and  her  mother,  with  Miss  Julia,  were 
at  the  gate  when  the  troop  went  by. 

"  Got  the  baby  ?  "  called  Mrs.  Eliot. 

Eph  Cummings  shook  his  head  gloomily. 
"  Won't  give  it  up !  " 

"  I  told  you  so,"  said  Nancy.  "  Mother,  I  've 
got  to  go  up  there.  I  said  I  would.  Don't  you 
want  to  go  too  ?  " 

Her  voice  had  no  imploring  notes,  but  Susan 
understood  it.  That  suggestion  carried  the 
weight  of  an  appeal.  Her  heart  yielded,  but 
she  clung  perforce  to  rural  usage.  She  could 
not  interfere.  "  I  ain't  goin'  to  meddle  nor 
make,"  she  returned  unhappily.  "  It 's  no  con- 
cern o'  mine,  nor  yourn  either.  Let 's  all  come 
in  an'  git  to  bed  in  good  season." 

But  Nancy  stepped  out  into  the  road,  and 
gathered  her  skirts  about  her.  She  felt  the 
holy  elevation  of  a  martyr. 

"Don't  you  worry,"  whispered  Miss  Julia  in 
Susan's  ear.  "  I  '11  go  with  her.  I  've  got  an 
errand  of  my  own."  And  she  too  melted  away 
into  the  night. 


KING'S   END  47 

Susan  Eliot  stood  for  a  moment,  watching  the 
dusky  shapes  lessen  up  the  hill,  and  then,  with 
a  long  sigh,  went  back  to  the  front  steps,  where 
she  sat  and  meditated.  She  was  well  used  to 
the  irritation  of  this  inward  protest  against  na- 
tures unlike  her  own.  Her  husband  had  taken 
these  byways  of  action  wherein  she  could  never 
follow  him,  and  now  Nancy  was  developing  the 
same  exasperating  individuality. 

The  two  went  silently  up  the  hill.  There 
was  no  moon,  and  now  the  dusk  was  night  in- 
deed, and  fell  upon  them  heavily.  Nancy,  never 
afraid  until  this  summer,  was  conscious  of  its 
power.  She  walked  softly,  yet  ashamed  of  her 
own  caution,  and  when  a  branch  put  out  an 
arresting  finger,  she  started  aside,  with  a  little 
cry.  But  Julia,  used  to  lone  vigils  beside  her 
brother  when  the  spirit  was  upon  him,  and  to 
miles  of  tramping  between  daylight  and  dawn, 
went  on  like  a  sinewy  soldier.  Nothing  was 
more  familiar  to  her  now  than  the  uncouth  shad- 
ows of  night,  its  phantasmal  sky ;  and,  like 
those  born  to  the  darkness,  she  seemed  to  feel 
her  way  through  it  by  a  sense  more  acute  than 
seeing. 

"It  was  real  good  of  you  to  come,"  said  Nancy, 
in  a  whisper. 

But  Julia,  unawed  by  the  silence,  made  answer 


48  KING'S   END 

clearly :  "  I  wanted  to.  It  gave  me  an  ex- 
cuse." 

"  Oh  !  "  breathed  Nancy,  stopping  short, 
"what's  that?" 

High  up  from  the  mountain  pasture  a  sound 
came  ebbing  down.  It  was  the  voice  of  prayer, 
chanted  with  great  and  musical  strength. 

"  It 's  brother,"  said  Miss  Julia,  "  praying  in 
the  dark." 

Nancy  laughed  a  little,  nervously.  "  I  might 
have  known,"  she  said,  drawing  a  quick  breath; 
"  I  've  heard  him  so  many  times.  But  somehow 
it  was  so  sudden  !  It 's  so  awful !  " 

The  voice  went  pealing  on.  It  fell  into  Bib- 
lical utterance,  and,  like  John  the  Baptist's,  cried 
"Repent!"  until  the  echoing  wood  returned 
the  word  uncannily. 

Nancy,  tired  with  the  day  and  excited  by  its 
drama,  held  herself  firmly,  lest  she  sob.  She 
was  ashamed  to  be  so  dominated.  "  Here  we 
are,"  she  said  at  length.  "  I  guess  he 's  gone 
to  bed." 

The  little  dark  house  was  still.  Luke  had  lis- 
tened for  her,  as  he  lay  in  his  bedroom,  but  his 
aching  body,  tired  with  three  days'  tramping, 
was  too  much  for  him.  While  he  listened,  he 
fell  asleep. 

The  two  women  stood  still  in  the  lilac  shadow. 


KING'S   END  49 

Julia  put  out  her  hands,  and  gathering  great 
bunches  of  the  blossoms  to  her  face,  laid  her 
aching  eyes  upon  them.  She  had  cried  that 
afternoon  some  of  the  terrible  tears  of  old  age, 
—  alone,  like  a  hurt  animal  in  the  sedge.  Only 
some  impersonal  touch  like  this  could  heal  her. 

"  I  guess  we  shall  have  to  go  back  again," 
whispered  Nancy,  at  length.  "  If  the  baby  's 
asleep,  she 's  all  right.  We  don't  want  to  wake 
her." 

They  stepped  softly  away,  pausing  at  inter- 
vals to  listen.  Halfway  down  the  road  Julia 
spoke,  putting  a  hand  on  the  girl's  arm. 
"  Should  you  just  as  soon  run  home  alone  ?  I  'm 
going  to  clip  it  over  the  pasture  here  to  the 
Cumnor  Road.  I  shall  be  in  by  the  time 
brother  is.  You  just  leave  the  door  for  us." 

"  I  '11  go  with  you,"  said  Nancy.  Her  cour- 
age had  returned  ;  and  proud  always  of  her  own 
strength,  she  liked  to  justify  it,  even  to  herself. 
"  Here  's  the  gap  in  the  wall." 

But  Julia  still  detained  her.  "  You  can  go," 
said  she.  "  I  'd  like  you  to  go.  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  find.  But  you  must  n't  ever  tell. 
It 's  my  business,  and  you  mustn't  ever." 

"  No,  I  won't  tell,"  said  Nancy.  She  stepped 
through  the  gap,  and  Julia  followed  lightly. 

They  were  in  a  rolling  pasture  with  pines  in 


50  KING'S   END 

irregular  patches,  black  now  under  the  weight 
of  night.  Nancy  remembered  how  a  line  of  firs 
on  a  ridge  beyond  had  often  made  an  iron  fret- 
work against  the  sunset  sky ;  now  they  were  an 
impassable  wall  builded  of  darkness.  The  whip- 
poorwill  began  in  the  distance,  uncannily  chang- 
ing his  resting  place,  as  if  he  fled  from  some 
tormenting  memory.  No  ears  country  born  can 
hear  that  sound  without  a  thrill,  and  for  an  in- 
stant Nancy's  inexplicable  fear  returned  upon 
her.  But  she  put  it  by,  and  said  clearly,  — 

"  I  told  mother  to-night." 

"What?" 

"About  going  with  you." 

"  Don't  you  do  it,  Nancy,  don't  you  do  it ! " 
The  woman  spoke  passionately,  yet  as  if  her 
mind  dwelt  also  on  another  thing.  "Do  you 
want  to  be  a  gypsy  and  wander  up  and  down 
the  face  of  the  earth  ? " 

"I  want  to  serve  God."  If  the  words  had 
been  meant  for  Martin,  they  might  have  rung 
false,  from  self-consciousness  and  the  fear  of 
his  laughter ;  but  the  night  had  washed  them 
clean. 

"Then  be  a  good  girl,  and  marry  a  man 
that  wants  you,  and  take  care  of  him.  Serve 
God !  you  don't  have  to  tear  yourself  all  to 
pieces  to  do  it !  " 


KING'S   END  51 

They  were  rapidly  feeling  their  way  along 
the  trail,  sometimes  stumbling  aside  in  the 
darkness,  and  then  finding  it  anew.  Nancy  was 
ahead ;  but  at  this  false  doctrine,  she  stopped  an 
instant,  and  turned  upon  her  companion  before 
going  on  again.  All  her  life  she  had  known  the 
woman  who  was  following  her  with  these  unerr- 
ing steps,  but  never  as  she  seemed  to-night. 
It  was  as  if  Julia  had  laid  aside  a  mask,  and 
appeared  for  a  moment  in  the  reckless  guise  of 
worldly  wisdom.  She  had  never  been  accounted 
religious  in  the  fanatical  fashion  of  the  Elder, 
but  her  devotion  to  him  had  worn  the  aspect  of 
consecration.  She  did  not  exhort,  nor  did  she 
even  join  his  impromptu  services.  Sometimes 
she  sat  with  her  hands  dropped  idly  in  her  lap 
while  he  preached  and  prayed ;  but  that  she  fol- 
lowed him  seemed  ample  proof  of  her  own  de- 
light in  holiness.  Nancy  opened  her  lips  once 
or  twice  in  astonished  combat  of  a  heterodoxy 
too  bewildering  even  to  be  denied.  So  in  silence 
they  hurried  on  and  over  another  remembered 
"easy  place"  in  the  wall,  out  into  the  Cumnor 
Road.  Nancy  paused. 

"Which  way  ?  "  she  asked. 

Julia  turned  to  the  left.  This  was  a  wider 
road  than  that  of  little  King's  End,  the  great 
highway  leading  down  to  Ryde.  Bordered  by 


52  KING'S   END 

well-to-do  maples,  it  was  airy  and  light  by  day, 
always  with  a  pleasant  breeze  blowing.  The 
houses  were  larger  here,  and  the  yards  fronting 
upon  the  road  wore  almost  an  air  of  town  mu- 
nificence. Julia,  leading  the  way,  turned  in  at 
an  open  gate  set  in  a  fence  of  chains,  held  at 
intervals  by  the  mouths  of  little  iron  horses. 
Nancy  remembered  how  those  horses  had  de- 
lighted her  childish  days,  when  the  Cumnor 
Road  seemed  to  her  the  one  way  into  the  world. 

"It's  Judge  Hill's !"  she  said  involuntarily, 
as  they  went  up  the  gravel  drive.  Miss  Julia 
did  not  answer  her,  and  Nancy  ventured  an 
arresting  touch  upon  her  dress.  "  Miss  Julia," 
she  reminded  her,  "  he  's  sick.  Did  n't  you 
know  it  ?  He 's  had  two  strokes." 

"  I  heard  of  it,"  said  Julia  steadily,  like  one 
who  has  faced  the  reality  of  grief  until  its  men- 
tion hurts  no  more.  "You  stand  here  by  this 
bush  and  keep  still.  I  '11  be  back.  If  I  have 
to  stay,  I  '11  come  and  tell  you." 

Nancy  fell  into  the  shadow  of  a  great  syringa 
and  watched  her  while  she  went  noiselessly  on, 
avoiding  the  path  now,  and  choosing  the  softer 
turf.  One  window  of  the  great  white  house, 
imposing  in  its  pillared  front,  was  brightly 
lighted,  and  an  agitated  gleam  was  moving  from 
room  to  room.  Nancy  knew  there  were  watch- 


KING'S  END  53 

ers  within.  She  saw  Julia  stop,  slip  her  shoes 
from  her  feet,  and  then  creep  softly  along  the 
piazza,  turning  the  corner  at  the  side.  There 
she  lost  her. 

Julia,  in  her  stocking-feet,  skirted  the  south 
side  of  the  house  where  the  apple  orchard 
stretched  its  bowery  length  and  paused  before 
one  of  the  long  windows.  It  was  open  into  a 
capacious  bedroom ;  and  there,  with  a  watcher 
at  either  side,  his  sister  and  the  village  nurse, 
lay  Judge  Hill  in  the  helplessness  of  his  stricken 
state.  His  head  rested  high  upon  pillows,  and 
the  distinguished  outline  of  his  face,  from  the 
great  forehead  down  to  the  noble  chin,  seemed 
to  bear  already  the  dignity  of  death.  His  sis- 
ter, of  an  old-fashioned  type,  with  her  delicate 
outline,  curls,  and  side-combs,  had  been  used  to 
keep  the  consistency  of  her  years  with  sober 
silks  and  sheer  sprigged  muslins  ;  now  she  wore 
a  cambric  dress  and  long  white  apron.  It  was 
her  concession  to  present  duty;  to  one  who 
knew  her  ways  of  life,  it  made  the  Judge's  case 
a  desperate  one; 

Julia's  gaze  dwelt  upon  the  sick  man  with  a 
hunger  so  intense  that  when  his  eyelids  trem- 
bled, and  the  watchers  bent  over  him,  she  caught 
her  breath  and  drew  backward,  as  if  she  had 
called  upon  him  too  insistently.  But  he  did  not 


54  KING'S   END 

waken  ;  and  after  one  of  the  women  had  mois- 
tened his  lips  they  settled  themselves  to  their 
silent  vigil,  and  she,  bending  forward  again,  fed 
with  an  unregarded  anguish  on  the  scene.  Once 
she  noted,  with  a  quick  glance,  the  old-fashioned 
appointments  of  the  room  :  the  landscape  paper, 
the  high-boy,  the  shining  andirons  in  the  fire- 
place, and  the  bed  itself,  with  its  canopy  frame 
above.  It  was  as  if  she  stole  a  look  at  some 
sacred  spot,  to  store  the  sight  for  memory.  But 
her  eyes  returned  to  dwell  upon  his  face.  Once 
he  lifted  his  right  hand,  and  opened  his  eyes. 
He  regarded  the  hand  curiously,  and  then  put 
it  over  and  touched  the  helpless  left  one.  His 
lips  framed  a  syllable. 

"  Air  ?  "  repeated  the  nurse.  She  rose,  glan- 
cing at  the  window.  Julia  fell  back,  and  then, 
at  the  sound  of  the  moving  sash,  slipped  along 
the  piazza  and  down  the  steps.  She  put  on  her 
shoes  and,  still  cautiously,  made  her  way  to  the 
syringa  bush.  There  she  stretched  out  a  trem- 
bling hand. 

"  You  here  ?"  she  whispered.  "Come.  He's 
alive." 

They  hurried  out  of  the  yard,  Julia,  now  that 
her  mission  was  over,  walking  so  fast  that 
Nancy  could  hardly  keep  step  with  her,  and  so 
fell  into  a  longer  stride.  Back  again  at  the 


KING'S   END  55 

wall,  the  old  woman  stopped  and  struck  her 
hands  together.  "  My  God !  my  God ! "  she  said 
quietly,  raising  her  face  to  heaven,  "what 
makes  You  let  such  things  be  ?  " 

They  went  swiftly  back  through  the  woods, 
so  unerringly  avoiding  stumps  and  stones  that 
Nancy  again  felt  as  if  they  were  both  seeing  in 
the  dark  Once  they  took  a  short  cut  through 
a  patch  of  woodland,  where  the  trees  brushed 
their  faces  and  phosphorescent  fires  gleamed 
from  the  dead  stumps  below.  The  girl  was 
strung  to  a  pitch  forbidding  fear.  She  expected 
anything  of  this  amazing  night.  Out  of  that 
black  nest  of  shadow  they  reached  the  crisp 
upland,  and  then  Julia  paused,  breathing  hard 

"  You  said  you  would  n't  tell  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  shan't  tell." 

"  I  '11  give  you  the  reason  "  — 

"  I  don't  want  any  reason." 

"  Yes ;  it  '11  show  you  how  folks  live,  and 
how  you  're  making  your  life  to-day  and  don't 
know  it.  When  I  was  young  I  was  going  to 
marry  him  "  — 

"Judge  Hill?" 

"Yes.  He  was  only  Stuart  Hill  then.  I 
left  him  because  my  brother  went  crazy  after 
religion,  and  I  'd  got  to  take  care  of  him.  And 
I  've  been  crazy  myself  ever  since.  If  I  had  n't 


56  KING'S   END 

left  him,  I  might  be  in  that  room  to-night,  wet- 
ting his  lips  for  him  when  he  wakes  up."  A 
broken  cry  escaped  her,  and  she  gave  way  to 
dry  and  rending  sobs.  Nancy  put  out  her 
hands,  but  Julia  pushed  them  back  and  drew  up 
her  little  figure  with  an  old  resolve.  "  There  !  " 
said  she,  "  let 's  get  home.  It 's  all  over  and 
done  with." 

Once  out  in  the  road  again,  she  asked,  in  her 
old  tone  of  gracious  courtesy,  "You  worried 
about  that  baby  ?  You  want  to  go  up  and  see 
if  it 's  asleep  ?  " 

"  If  you  'd  stay  here,  I  might  run  up  and 
listen." 

Julia  sank  on  a  stone,  relieved  at  solitude, 
and  Nancy  hurried  up  the  hill.  As  she  ap- 
proached the  little  house,  some  sound  too  slight 
to  be  regarded,  and  almost  like  a  prescience  in 
the  air,  made  her  guess  at  the  nearness  of 
human  things.  She  walked  carefully,  and  her 
breath  came  quick.  She  wished  herself  below, 
but  pride  upheld  her.  Then  she  stepped  be- 
yond the  lilac  bush  and  came  upon  two  figures. 
Involuntarily  she  put  her  hand  on  her  heart, 
but  the  gigantic  bulk  of  one  reassured  her. 
"Joan!"  she  breathed. 

"Glory  be  to  God  — Nancy!  I  thought  it 
was  a  pixie  !  "  said  Joan,  crossing  herself.  "Is 
the  town  at  your  back  ? " 


KING'S   END  57 

"  I  came  up  to  see  if  the  baby  was  all  right," 
said  Nancy,  with  dignity,  forced  so  to  account 
for  herself.  "  I  thought  maybe  he  'd  forget  to 
feed  her  again.  You  can  see  to  it  now." 

She  walked  away  without  a  glance  at  the 
other  woman,  but  Alia  Mixon  had  not  mistaken 
her ;  and  when,  a  few  minutes  later,  she  and 
Joan  went  down  the  hill,  alike  disappointed  in 
their  quest,  her  look  was  keen  upon  the  road 
before  her  to  see  whether  Nancy  was  alone. 

"  I  should  n't  thought  Nancy  would  have 
gone  up  there,  should  you  ? "  she  asked  Big 
Joan,  who  answered  dryly  :  — 

"  Maybe  folks  would  n't  have  thought  it  of 
you  an'  me ;  but  you  can't  tell  by  the  looks  of 
a  toad  "  — 

"  Oh,  I  know  all  that !  "  said  Alia  impatiently, 
"  but  you  went  because  it 's  old  Mis'  Horner's 
grandchild,  and  I  went  because  I  happened 
along." 

"  The  devil's  will  is  some  folks'  happenin'," 
muttered  Big  Joan. 

"What?" 

"  I  said  it 's  all  one.  Here  's  your  gate.  I  '11 
say  good-night." 

"  Did  you  see  anybody  with  Nancy  ? "  per- 
sisted Alia,  her  hand  on  the  latch. 

"I  didn't.     No  more  did  I  see  Nancy.     I 


58  KING'S   END 

could  n't  see  my  hand  before  my  face.  Good- 
night to  ye." 

She  went  on  with  her  lumbering  stride,  and 
Alia  paused  a  moment  to  pat  the  stray  rings  of 
hair  about  her  face,  for  she  saw  Martin  Jeffries 
reading  by  the  table.  This  was  his  house,  and 
here  she  was  living  while  she  settled  the  business 
of  her  father's  estate.  Many  said  that  if  old 
Mrs.  Jeffries  would  keep  her,  it  would  be  a  long 
day  before  she  went  back  to  the  mills  at  Sev- 
ern ;  and  if  Martin  once  took  note  of  her,  she 
would  not  go  back  at  all.  She  rubbed  her 
cheeks  with  a  passionate  hand,  and  drew  a  score 
of  breaths  to  redden  them ;  then  she  stepped 
into  the  low-ceiled  room. 

"  'Evening,  Martin,"  she  called. 

He  looked  up  and  nodded  at  her,  not  un- 
civilly, though  he  did  not  smile.  Yet  Alia 
made  a  pretty  vision.  She  was  short  and 
rounded,  with  a  dainty  waist.  Her  face  had  a 
gypsy  swarthiness,  and  her  black  hair  grew  in  a 
peak  on  her  forehead.  She  had  an  inadvertent 
sort  of  dimple  in  one  cheek,  and  alluring,  if  not 
altogether  natural,  ways  of  tossing  her  head. 
Only  her  dark  eyes  were  not  to  a  maid's  advan- 
tage; they  were  too  shallow,  and  sometimes 
unpleasant  lights  were  gleaming  in  them.  She 
stood  still  a  moment,  and  then  came  to  the  table 


KING'S   END  59 

and  leaned  over  Martin's  shoulder,  close  with- 
out touching  him.  "  What  you  reading  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"History." 

Alia  was  ostensibly  scanning  the  page,  yet 
her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  softness  of  his 
hair.  "  It  looks  real  interesting,"  she  said,  her 
voice  grown  tremulous.  "  I  never  've  read  any 
history." 

"  Take  this,  if  you  like,"  said  Martin,  clos- 
ing the  book  and  pushing  back  his  chair.  "  I'm 
going  to  bed." 

A  tiny  frown  disfigured  her  forehead,  and 
more  color  came,  hard  and  bright.  She  stepped 
back  a  pace,  and  began  taking  off  her  hat. 
"  Your  mother  gone  upstairs  ? "  she  asked,  with 
an  aim  at  carelessness. 

"  Yes,  half  an  hour  ago.  I  '11  leave  the  light. 
You  can  put  it  out." 

He  had  taken  his  little  kitchen  lamp  and 
reached  the  stairs,  when  some  reaction  from  his 
coolness  stung  her  to  revenge. 

"  I  saw  Nancy  Eliot  to-night,"  she  said  hotly, 
with  a  woman's  rashness  bartering  present  sat- 
isfaction for  an  after  pain.  He  was  opening  the 
door.  "I  went  up  with  Big  Joan  to  find  out 
about  that  baby  Luke  Evans  stole,  and  Nancy 
was  just  coming  away  from  the  house.  Heard 


60  KING'S  END 

anything  about  whether  Luke's  asked  her  up 
there  for  good  ?  " 

An  almost  imperceptible  twinge  moved  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  but  he  answered  quietly, 
"No,  I  ain't  heard,"  and  went  upstairs  with- 
out another  look. 

She  stood  listening  to  his  steps,  first  upon 
the  stairs  and  then  in  his  little  room.  When 
they  ceased,  she  burst  into  a  passion  of  crying, 
so  abandoned  that  it  almost  seemed  as  if  she 
invited  it  in  scorn  of  her  useless  beauty ;  and 
while  the  tears  were  wet  upon  her  cheeks,  she 
took  the  lamp  and  went  to  the  mirror  with  it, 
holding  it  high  above  her  head.  As  she  looked, 
her  mouth  settled  into  curves  of  grieving,  and 
her  eyes  took  on  the  pathos  of  self-pity.  Pre- 
sently a  little  hopeful  gleam  spread,  like  sun- 
light, from  brow  to  lips.  She  could  not  conceive 
how  one  so  pretty  should  ever  despair.  He 
was  not  married  yet ;  if  Nancy  could  be  delayed 
a  little  on  her  victorious  track,  he  would  have 
to  wait,  as  he  had  been  waiting  all  these  years. 
She  smiled  into  her  own  eyes,  and  promised 
them  to  dare  her  utmost.  Then,  putting  aside 
larger  questions,  she  settled  her  neck  ribbon 
and  reflected  that  Nancy  was  very  pale  of  late ; 
besides,  Nancy  had  no  gold  watch  and  chain. 


Ill 

NEXT  morning  Mrs.  Eliot  ironed,  while  Aunt 
Lindy  and  Julia,  with  low-toned  garnishings  of 
talk,  assorted  rags  for  braiding.  Nancy  changed 
her  dress  for  one  of  her  school  cambrics,  and 
made  ready  for  a  desired  mission.  Ever  since 
opening  her  sleepy  eyes,  she  had  been  moved, 
not  by  a  sense  of  her  own  importance,  but  the 
importance  of  life  as  it  touched  her;  and  so, 
absorbed  in  piecing  together  her  bits  of  bright 
ambition,  she  failed  to  notice  how  worn  her 
mother  looked  under  the  burden  of  last  night's 
confidence.  To  Nancy,  her  own  decision  made  a 
completed  fact,  serenely  regnant.  She  had  be- 
gun inheriting  the  earth  before  her  feet  were 
even  worn  in  its  borders.  Now,  as  she  stood  in 
her  little  bare  room  before  the  hazy  mirror  with 
the  eagle  atop,  she  crowned  her  head  with  braids 
of  shining  hair,  and  mused  exaltedly.  She  had 
worked  very  hard,  all  the  years  of  her  girlhood, 
and  success  lay  before  her  without  a  flaw.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  should  always  succeed, 
and  that  whosoever  failed  had  not  striven  val- 


62  KING'S   END 

iantly.  Her  toilet  made,  she  unlocked  the  little 
blue  chest  containing  her  few  treasures,  and 
took  from  it  a  roll  of  money.  She  counted  the 
bills  with  a  serious  absorption,  although  they 
had  often  been  counted  before,  and  then  pinned 
them  into  her  pocket.  Running  lightly  down 
the  stairs,  she  paused  a  moment  at  the  ironing- 
table  to  whisper,  "  Where  s'pose  I  'm  going  ?  " 

Susan  shook  her  head.  Inwardly  she  was 
afraid  Nancy  meant  to  climb  the  mountain  again, 
in  defiance  of  village  rules. 

"  Over  to  Alia  Mixon's  to  make  the  last  pay- 
ment. I  '11  bring  home  the  note,  and  let  you 
tear  it  up." 

Her  joy  was  contagious,  especially  to  one 
a-quiver  with  maternal  love.  The  tears  came 
into  Susan's  eyes.  "  You  're  a  good  girl,"  she 
said  neutrally,  and  Nancy,  laughing,  rustled  out 
of  the  door  and  along  the  road. 

Susan  set  down  her  iron,  and  went  to  the 
window  for  one  more  look.  At  the  moment, 
she  took  comfort  in  ignoring  Nancy's  incredible 
project  of  a  wandering  life.  It  was  a  night- 
mare fled  with  the  coming  of  dawn ;  and  now 
the  sun  had  mounted  and  bluebirds  were  about. 

Yet  Nancy  was  not  used  to  flights  of  uncon- 
sidered  fancy ;  whatever  she  had  set  her  mind 
upon  was  always  ultimately  hers.  Forced  to 


KING'S   END  63 

remember  that,  Susan  sighed  again  and  took  up 
her  cooling  iron. 

As  Nancy  walked  along,  her  thoughts  hung 
joyously  upon  a  duty  done,  a  stage  of  life  com- 
pleted. She  went  back  to  the  day,  eight  years 
before,  when  her  mother  had  explained  their 
poverty  under  the  debt  her  husband  left  unpaid. 

Tom  Eliot  was  more  willful  than  his  daughter 
even,  willful  and  unstable,  too.  He  built  castles, 
and  when  they  tumbled,  set  about  designing 
more.  One  of  his  pet  dreams  had  been  a  stock- 
farm  ;  therefore  he  borrowed  six  hundred  dollars 
of  old  Mixon  to  "  launch  out."  Nothing  came 
of  it ;  indeed,  King's  End  always  said  the  money 
went  into  another  kind  of  stocks,  and  failed  to 
emerge.  Eliot  died,  and  his  wife,  sinking  into 
the  apathy  of  the  humble  who  are  acquainted 
with  grief,  told  Nancy  they  must  sell  a  piece  of 
land  and  pay  their  debt.  Their  land  ?  The  land 
she  had  played  over,  and  where  she  meant  some 
time  to  see  her  own  corn  waving  and  her  celery 
in  rows  for  market  ?  For  then  Nancy  meant  to 
be  a  gardener.  She  took  the  matter  into  thrifty 
hands,  and  after  her  first  term  of  teaching,  went 
to  old  Mixon  with  a  new  note  in  her  own  name, 
and  made  him  a  payment  on  it.  He  was  pleased 
with  her  pluck  ;  he  thought  of  his  one  girl, 
softer  of  sinew  than  Nancy,  but  just  as  likely  to 


64  KING'S   END 

fight  the  world  alone  some  day,  and  told  her  to 
"  Go  ahead ! "  She  might  assume  the  debt  if 
she  chose ;  her  father's  name  was  free. 

In  the  dark  stretch  of  road  by  the  old  water- 
ing-trough she  met  Martin  Jeffries,  heralding 
his  approach  by  a  florid  and  exultant  whistle. 

"  I  always  tune  up  when  I  see  you  coming," 
he  remarked,  showing  his  white  teeth.  "  What 
a  fool  I  am ! " 

"  Why  are  you  a  fool  —  for  that  ? " 

"  Oh,  then  you  know  I  'm  'round  and  have 
time  to  put  on  your  stand-off  look.  Shake 
hands." 

Nancy  was  holding  her  skirts,  guarding  them 
primly  from  the  damp. 

"  I  saw  you  only  yesterday,"  she  said,  not 
offering  to  accept  that  winsome  invitation. 

"  Well,  and  you  '11  see  me  to-morrow  and 
Thursday,  if  I  have  my  way  about  it.  Confound 
it,  Nancy,  some  day  you  '11  drive  me  too  far ! 
You  '11  find  yourself  kissed  before  you  know  it." 

He  stood  before  her,  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  hat  pushed  back.  She  knew,  without 
glancing  at  him,  exactly  how  he  looked,  flushed, 
half  angry.  She  turned  from  the  narrow  path 
he  barred  to  a  pool  of  water  in  the  hollowed 
road,  and  thought  fastidiously  of  her  boots. 
But  underneath  her  maiden  daintiness  some 


KING'S   END  65 

trembling  fascination  kept  her  there  because 
she  liked  to  stay. 

"Sometimes  I  wonder  I'm  so  patient  with 
you,"  he  went  on  roughly,  with  little  tolerance 
in  his  tone.  "  When  I  wake  up  in  the  night  and 
think  about  you,  I  wonder  if  I  ain't  a  sheep  to 
let  you  treat  me  so ;  and  then  it 's  daylight,  and 
I  meet  you  all  cool  and  calm  and  starched  up 
and  —  good  God  !  "  He  took  off  his  hat,  and 
passed  an  impatient  hand  over  his  forehead. 

As  for  Nancy,  she  felt  herself  stiffening.  "  I 
wish  you  would  n  't  say  ain't !  "  she  remarked 
perversely. 

He  broke  into  a  great,  mellow  guffaw  of 
laughter.  That  happy  god  stroked  the  lines  of 
emotion  from  his  face  and  creased  it  into  sweet- 
ness. He  laughed  like  Pan  in  some  wood  hol- 
low, come  upon  sporting  nymphs  or  grotesque 
animal. 

"  Oh,  Lord,  Nancy! "  he  cried,  when  the  gusts 
were  stilling.  "  Ain't  it  a  funny  world  ?  Here 's 
you  and  me  —  and  it 's  spring  —  and  you  wish 
I  would  n't  say  ain't ! " 

"  I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  laugh  about," 
said  Nancy.  "  I  'm  going  along  now." 

He  did  not  move.  "Where  you  going, 
dear  ? "  he  asked  persuasively.  The  endearment 
forbade  her  answering,  but  she  did  want  so  to  tell. 


66  KING'S  END 

"  Down  to  your  house,  to  see  Alia  Mixon  and 
make  my  last  payment  on  the  note."  Her  eyes 
lighted,  and  met  his  in  frank  challenge  of  an 
answering  gleam.  She  was  not  disappointed. 

"  You  're  a  good  girl,  Nancy,"  he  said  softly, 
and  the  repeated  commendation,  in  her  mother's 
own  words,  softened  her  also. 

"  I  'm  glad  it 's  done,"  she  continued.  "  Now 
I  shall  feel  as  if  I  could  go  off  with  the  Elder." 

"  The  deuce  you  will !  "  remarked  her  lover. 
"  You  mean,  now  it 's  done  you  feel  as  if  you 
could  come  and  live  in  your  new  house,  and 
send  herbs  to  market.  Say,  Nancy,  'tis  your 
house,  and  you  can  have  anybody  live  in  it  you 
like.  But  I  guess  you  'd  better  take  me !  " 
His  face  was  all  overspread  with  a  sunny  good- 
humor,  his  voice  coaxed  like  that  of  a  child,  his 
hand  was  seeking  hers.  Nancy,  according  to 
her  custom,  selected  the  statement  easiest  of 
answer. 

"  Send  herbs  to  market !  Is  that  all  you 
think  of  still  ?  " 

"That's  my  profession,"  said  Martin,  with 
willful  dignity.  "  It 's  going  to  be  yours,  too. 
We're  partners." 

Her  dormant  pride  in  him  took  fire. 

"Oh,  I  don't  wonder  your  mother's  out  of 
patience  with  you!"  she  cried  hotly.  "Your 


KING'S   END  67 

father  the  best  doctor  in  the  county,  and  you 
studying  with  him  and  going  'round  among  the 
sick,  and  then  settling  down  to  tramp  the  woods 
after  herbs,  and  sell  them  for  little  or  nothing  ! 
To  just  throw  yourself  away  like  that  —  it 's 
awful ! " 

"  But  I  shan't  tramp  the  woods  when  we 
are  housekeeping,"  said  Martin  encouragingly, 
though  he  watched  her,  with  that  quizzical  imp 
lurking  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  "  I  'm  go- 
ing to  have  acres  of  sage  and  marjoram  behind 
the  house,  and  beds  of  lavender.  It  '11  be 
sweeter  than 

'  The  Lord  into  his  garden  comes.* 

Sakes,  Nancy !  when  I  think  of  them  beds,  I 
could  roll  in  'em  like  a  cat." 

His  malformed  pronoun  was  too  much  for 
her,  and  she  considered  how  deep  the  puddle 
might  be  at  the  edge.  Martin  had  a  wondrous 
cleverness  in  diagnosing  her  patience  and  guess- 
ing when  to  retire.  He  stepped  aside  and  took 
off  his  hat  punctiliously,  not  forgetting  his  key- 
note :  — 

"  Good-by,  Nancy.     Shake  hands." 
She  walked  past  him  and,  never  once  looking 
back,  rounded  the  turn  in  the  road.     Martin 
took  up  his  cheerful  whistle,  and  went  on  to  the 


68  KING'S   END 

new  house  where  the  carpenters  were  hammer- 
ing, in  hollow  cadence.  Eph  Cummings  met 
him  in  the  drive. 

"  Be'n  waitin'  for  ye  over  an  hour  'n'  a  half," 
he  said,  with  some  reproach. 

"Anything  particular  ?  "  inquired  Martin. 

"No  ;  thought  sure  I 'd  find  ye." 

"  Come  along  back  then." 

"No,  our  folks  want  to  be  harnessed  up. 
Say,  Martin,  what 's  to  pay  in  this  town  't  we 
can't  let  folks  hoe  their  own  row  ?  There 's 
Luke  Evans,  now ;  anybody  'd  think  there 
wa'n't  a  trait  in  his  character.  Why  can't  a 
good  honest  girl  go  up  there  an'  give  him  a  lift 
'thout  bein'  hauled  over  the  coals  ?  Not  that 
I  'd  want  her  to  if  she 's  a  girl  o'  mine.  But 
what 's  the  harm  ?  Still,  I  'd  speak  to  her,  folks 
up  in  arms  so.  I  certain  would  speak  to  her." 

He  nodded,  pleased  with  his  own  diplomacy. 
Then  he  passed  on.  Martin,  more  slowly,  fol- 
lowed the  driveway  to  the  house ;  but  he  whis- 
tled no  more  that  day. 

Nancy  came  to  "  the  Jeffries',"  and  walked  up 
the  path  between  sunny  earth  beds  where  but 
few  blossoms  were  yet  awake,  though  a  hundred 
sweets  lay  there  in  warm  expectancy.  This 
garden  was  the  one  neutral  ground  where  Mar- 
tin and  his  mother  met  harmoniously.  They 


KING'S   END  69 

shared  a  kindred  instinct,  a  kindred  wisdom 
devoted  to  the  fostering  of  seeds  and  roots. 
They  could  make  things  grow.  Green  leaves 
rioted  for  them,  and  the  neighbors,  never  quite 
used  to  it  after  many  years,  looked  on  sometimes 
with  a  jealous  eye.  Certain  springs,  when  daf- 
fodils were  blighting,  Mrs.  Jeffries'  grass  was  all 
cockaded  with  them.  When  other  folks  were 
planting  lilies  and  heart's-ease,  she  was  thinning 
hers  and  throwing  them  into  the  road.  Yet  she 
and  Martin,  with  the  arrogance  of  genius,  re- 
garded their  holding  lightly.  It  was  easy 
enough  to  make  things  grow,  said  they.  Set 
them  out  and  —  there  you  were. 

Nancy  to-day  had  but  a  glance  in  passing  for 
these  old  friends  who  had  given  her  merry 
whiffs.  She  knew  them  all,  even  in  their  guise 
of  budding  green.  There  was  the  hollyhock 
walk  and  there  the  dahlia  corner.  There  was 
larkspur,  from  which  Martin,  when  they  were 
boy  and  girl,  had  fetched  an  azure  plumelet  for 
her  hat.  Here  was  dielytra  (skeleton  ladies 
lived  inside  the  blossoms),  poppies  promising  the 
seed  vessels  that  are  tea-sets,  ribbon  grass,  in- 
dispensable for  trimming  mullein  hats,  and  peo- 
nies whose  silken  petals  would  be  useful,  by  and 
by,  for  snapping  on  your  fist.  All  this  wealth 
was  in  futurity  but  the  practiced  eye  was  ready, 


70  KING'S   END 

the  mind  discerned  it.  Columbine,  foxglove, 
mourning-bride,  —  the  very  names  carried  their 
own  enchantment. 

Yet  though  Nancy  looked  their  way,  it  was 
but  absently  Her  thoughts  were  busy  over  that 
inner  world  of  her  own  desires.  She  paused  a 
moment  at  the  door,  to  calm  her  breath,  and 
then  went  in. 

Mrs.  Jeffries  swept  the  hearth,  and  Alia  sat 
by  the  window,  crocheting  an  intricate  edge. 
This  tolerated  guest  was  never  allowed  to  help 
about  the  house.  Day  by  day  she  offered  ser- 
vices, and  then  lingered  about,  in  discomfited 
ease,  while  her  hostess  toiled  silently,  like  an 
ant  under  heavy  burdens.  Martin's  mother  was 
a  very  little  woman  indeed,  somewhat  girlish  in 
her  glance  and  the  way  she  carried  her  head.  Yet 
though  many  might  have  found  her  appealing, 
it  was  not  by  her  consent.  A  steel  rod  of  a 
woman,  she  fashioned  her  own  opinions  and  bore 
them  trenchantly  aloft.  One  person  she  had 
loved  with  an  exceeding  passion,  —  her  husband, 
the  doctor.  Whether  she  prized  Martin  very 
much,  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  say.  She 
treated  him  with  untired  disparagement,  from 
an  alleged  background  of  blame  because  he 
would  not  follow  his  father's  calling.  The 
neighbors  had  a  theory  that  she  despised  him, 


KING'S  END  71 

but  Martin  kept  his  own  counsel.  When  Nancy 
went  in,  Mrs.  Jeffries  only  gave  her  a  nod,  and 
went  on  sweeping.  She  was  very  deaf,  and 
never  attempted  to  hear  without  her  trumpet, 
a  fickle  aid,  to  be  laid  aside  when  it  so  pleased 
her.  Nancy  walked  up  to  Alia,  and  greeted  her 
with  a  warmth  due  all  to  her  errand  and  not  to 
old  acquaintanceship. 

"  Good-morning,  Alia.  I  Ve  come  to  make 
my  payment.  You  know  I  said  I  would.  I 
told  you  Sunday." 

Alia  glanced  up,  and  then  took  a  few  more 
careful  stitches,  counting  unnecessarily  for  a 
pause.  But  she  spoke  sweetly  in  her  turn. 

"  Good-morning.  The  note  ?  Yes,  it 's  right 
where  I  can  put  my  hand  on  it.  You  sure  you 
want  to  do  it  to-day  ? " 

"  Oh  yes  ;  of  course  I  do !  I  'm  so  pleased 
I  can't  wait." 

Alia  dropped  her  work  in  a  careful  little  coil 
and  went  upstairs.  She  walked  slowly,  thinking. 
It  was  a  great  day  for  her  too.  When  she  came 
back,  Nancy  had  unpinned  the  money  from  her 
pocket,  and  sat  holding  it,  aware  of  its  precious- 
ness. 

"  How  much  you  going  to  pay  ? "  asked  Alia 
carelessly,  though  with  a  heightened  color. 

"Twenty  dollars.  I  guess  there  are  some 
odd  cents." 


72  KING'S   END 

"Then  I  '11  indorse  it.  That 's  the  way  father 
used  to  do  with  his  notes." 

"  All  the  payments  are  there,"  said  Nancy. 
"  He  wrote  'em  every  one  down.  This  is  the 
last,  you  know." 

Alia  turned  the  paper  over  and  gazed  elab- 
orately at  the  back.  "There  ain't  anything 
written  here,"  she  said.  She  looked  up  at 
Nancy  and  then  again  at  the  paper. 

"  Oh  yes,"  pursued  Nancy,  smiling.  "  Let 
me  see."  She  bent  over  it  with  knitted  brows. 
It  was  her  own  handwriting,  the  note  she  had 
made  out  in  her  careful  script  and  taken  to  old 
Mixon,  asking  him  to  receive  it  in  place  of  the 
one  against  her  father.  She  pulled  it  away 
from  Alla's  unsteady  ringers,  and  turned  it  over. 
The  back  was  blank.  A  pang  of  bewilderment 
pierced  her  to  the  heart. 

"  Why !  "  she  cried  wildly.  Her  knees  were 
weak.  She  looked  imploringly  at  the  other 
girl.  "  Why,  you  know  I  'd  'most  paid  it  up! 
You  knew  all  along !  " 

"I  didn't  know  a  word,"  answered  Alia 
steadily.  "  Father  never  talked  business  with 
me." 

"  But  you  knew  it !  "  In  the  face  of  all  her 
wasted  effort,  it  seemed  to  Nancy  as  if  every- 
body must  have  known.  "  I  used  to  go  up  and 
make  payments." 


KING'S  END  73 

"  I  never  was  there." 

It  was  true.  Nancy  remembered  that.  She 
turned  the  note  over  and  over  in  her  hands.  It 
was  hers ;  yet  it  lied  to  her.  She  felt  a  wild 
dismay. 

"  You  let  me  have  it,"  she  whispered.  "  Let 
me  take  it  home  where  I  can  sit  down  and 
think  it  over." 

But  Alia  drew  it  away  from  her,  stepping 
back  a  pace.  "  No,  I  should  n't  dream  of  such 
a  thing,"  she  answered,  with  the  firmness  of  one 
entirely  in  the  right.  "  Father  always  kept 
his  business  in  his  own  hands.  He  'd  want  I 
should."  She  seated  herself  again  at  the  win- 
dow, and  took  up  her  work. 

Nancy  put  her  hands  upon  the  back  of  a 
chair  and  stood  there  droopingly.  Mrs.  Jef- 
fries stepped  about  the  hearth,  getting  ready 
for  ironing,  now  and  then  glancing  at  the  two 
as  they  moved  or  spoke.  With  the  abnormal 
acuteness  of  those  in  whom  sensibility  comes 
to  the  aid  of  some  defective  sense,  she  felt  the 
stir  in  the  air ;  but  it  was  a  part  of  her  chosen 
attitude  to  despise  curiosity  among  other  hu- 
man failings.  Once,  in  passing  a  nail  by  the 
door,  she  knocked  down  an  old  cap  of  Martin's, 
and  then  dusted  it  with  what  seemed  a  lin- 
gering tenderness.  Alia  saw  her,  and  an  old 


74  KING'S   END 

jealousy  pierced  her  anew.  She  looked  up  at 
Nancy  and  spoke  coldly  :  — 

"  Well,  you  want  to  make  your  payment  ?  If 
it  ain't  the  last,  it  '11  be  the  first." 

Nancy  had  put  the  bills  in  her  pocket  and 
stood  there,  holding  her  hand  upon  them.  She 
bent  over  and  pinned  the  pocket  together  again. 
Tears  blinded  her  and  her  lips  were  quivering. 

"  No,  I  guess  I  '11  wait,"  she  said  brokenly, 
and,  without  a  look  at  either  of  the  women,  went 
slowly  out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Jeffries  spread  her  ironing-sheet,  and 
remarked  emphatically  to  Alia,  "  She 's  a  good 
girl." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  think  so  when  you  talk 
to  him,"  returned  Alia  savagely.  "  I  've  heard 
you  tell  him  to  stop  running  after  her  and 
making  himself  a  laughing-stock."  She  glanced 
about  for  the  trumpet  to  convey  that  statement, 
subtly  tempered ;  but  Mrs.  Jeffries  shook  her 
head. 

"  She  's  a  good  girl,"  she  said  again.  "  There 
ain't  many  like  her."  Then  she  returned  to 
the  solitude  of  her  infirmity. 

Nancy  walked  weakly  along  the  country 
road.  All  its  beauties  had  grown  dark  to  her. 
There  is  a  curious  and  dreadful  irony  in  the 
fact  that  money,  in  its  departure,  assumes  the 


KING'S   END  75 

guise  of  an  almost  limitless  power.  So  long 
has  it  stood  for  greater  things  that,  when  it  flees 
us,  we  feel,  for  the  instant,  as  if  the  greater 
things  went  also.  To  commit  suicide  because 
you  are  a  beggar  seems  to  the  vagabond  on 
moorland  and  blue  water  a  witless  thing  to  do ; 
yet  the  insanity  of  loss  burns  bloom  alike  with 
stubble.  Nancy  knew  now  the  mind  of  finan- 
ciers engulfed  in  ruin.  Her  brain  was  numbed ; 
she  looked  blankly  at  the  path  before  her. 
Presently,  when  she  could  think,  she  would 
lament,  like  others,  that  her  loss  was  not  that 
of  money  alone :  it  represented  higher  things, 
the  gods  to  which  her  days  were  dedicated. 
Only  that  morning  her  life  had  dovetailed  to- 
gether so  prettily.  She  was  to  leave  the  farm 
free  of  debt,  and  go  herself  to  preach  the  gospel. 
In  lifting  that  incubus  of  the  unpaid  loan,  she 
had  cherished  an  ingenuous  certainty  that  the 
duties  incident  to  birth  and  blood  were  done. 
Henceforth  her  course  lay  in  holier  altitudes. 
Yet  those  were  fancies  of  an  hour  ago.  As  she 
walked  on,  her  eyes  dry  now,  but  still  unseeing, 
a  shrill  summons  came  from  the  Horner  win- 
dow. Old  Sally's  bed  stood  that  morning  where 
her  bitter  glance  could  rake  the  road. 

"  Nancy  !  "   she  repeated.     "  You  come  in 
here.'1 


76  KING'S   END 

Nancy  obeyed  mechanically,  straightening 
herself  and  setting  her  face  lest  drooping  ban- 
ners betray  her.  Mrs.  Horner's  room  wore  its 
own  exquisite  order ;  the  bed  was  unwrinkled,  a 
mould  not  made  for  agitation.  Her  cap  and 
white  gown  were  smooth  and  spotless  ;  her  eyes 
burned  like  jewels  from  under  frilled  borders. 
The  thump  of  Big  Joan's  iron  came  from  the 
kitchen. 

"  What  is  it,  Mrs.  Horner  ? "  asked  Nancy, 
hesitating  in  the  doorway.  "  Did  you  want 
me  ? " 

"You  come  in,"  commanded  Sally  Horner. 
"  Take  that  chair.  No,  no,  that  one  :  I  want 
to  git  the  light  on  ye.  What  'd  you  go  up  to 
Luke  Evans's  for,  yisterday  arternoon  ?  " 

Big  Joan  appeared  from  the  kitchen ;  her 
great  bulk  filled  the  doorway. 

"  I  did  n't  go  up,"  said  Nancy  vacantly.  All 
yesterday  seemed  very  far  away.  "  I  was  going 
by.  The  baby  cried,  and  I  went  in." 

"  Cried !  "  echoed  the  old  woman  sharply. 
"  Where  was  it  ?  What  was  he  doin'  to  it  ? 
What  made  it  cry  ? " 

"  What  made  the  woman  eat  the  apple  ?  " 
inquired  Big  Joan  aside.  "  Natur'  an'  God 
A'mighty.  Babies  cryin' !  'T  wa'n't  a  miracle 
when  she  cried  down  here." 


KING'S    END  77 

"What  was  he  doin'  to  it?"  persisted  the 
old  woman.  "  You  tell  me  all  you  see." 

"  I  did  n't  see  anything  particular.  He  had  n't 
fed  it,  and  I  helped  him.  He  seemed  to  be 
much  obliged.  I  '11  be  going  now,  Mrs.  Horner. 
I  don't  know  anything  more  about  the  baby.  I 
don't  really." 

The  old  woman  reached  out  and  laid  a  clutch- 
ing hand  upon  her  dress.  "  Look  here,  you  !  " 
she  said,  in  a  fiercely  beguiling  whisper ;  "  you 
go  up  there,  an*  when  he  's  out  o'  the  room 
ketch  up  that  baby  an'  run.  You  bring  it  here 
to  me,  an'  I  '11  keep  the  doors  locked.  You  do 
it,  an'  I  '11  give  ye  'most  anything  I  Ve  got." 

"  I  can't  do  it,  Mrs.  Horner,"  said  Nancy, 
trying  to  pass.  "  It  is  n't  my  business  :  mother 
says  so." 

Mrs.  Horner  fell  back  among  her  pillows, 
crying  and  beating  the  counterpane  with  her 
hands.  "  It  ain't  anybody's  business,"  she 
moaned.  "  He 's  gone  out  plantin',  an'  Joan 
here  tells  me  to  my  face  she  won't  interfere, 
an*  I  Ve  sent  over  'n'  over  to  the  selec'men,  an' 
they  don't  come.  Oh,  if  I  was  a  man,  an'  had 
two  good  legs  an'  a  back !  "  She  lay  there 
glowering,  and  Big  Joan  systematically  smoothed 
the  sheet. 

Nancy  made  her  escape,  and  hurried  home, 


78  KING'S   END 

afraid  of  more  challenges  from  alien  affairs.  At 
the  door,  her  mother  was  waiting  for  her,  smiling 
in  justified  anticipation.  But  Nancy  could  only 
look  wanly  in  reply,  and  push  past  her  up  the 
stairs.  "  I  Ve  got  a  headache,  mother,"  she 
said,  with  the  old-time  evasion  of  womankind. 

Nancy  was  hardly  out  of  the  Horner  yard 
when  another  visitor  entered  it :  the  Elder, 
in  his  voluntary  shepherding  about  the  neigh- 
borhood. When  he  stepped  in  at  the  door, 
Joan  had  gone  back  to  her  ironing,  and  Mrs. 
Horner,  with  no  onlooker  to  be  moved,  had  put 
her  passion  aside  and  lay  panting,  with  the 
marks  of  tears  upon  her  cheeks.  The  Elder 
stopped  on  the  threshold,  and  her  eyes  met  his 
in  a  fiery  volley. 

"  Woman,"  he  said,  not  with  authority  but  an 
appealing  kindliness,  "  arise  and  walk  !  " 

Mrs.  Horner  gave  an  inarticulate  snort,  full 
of  rage  and  wretchedness.  "  Don't  you  call  me 
woman  !  "  she  retorted.  "  I  Ve  told  ye  that 
afore." 

But  the  Elder  was  not  discomfited.  He 
looked  at  her  patiently. 

"  They  are  not  my  words,"  he  said.  "They 
were  uttered  by  a  greater  than  I." 

"  Well,  then,  once  is  enough,"  returned  Mrs. 
Horner,  with  one  half -terrified  glance  at  the 


KING'S   END  79 

Bible  upon  the  stand.  She  meant  to  make  up 
to  it  in  some  moment  of  unoccupied  solitude ; 
meantime  she  dared  her  utmost.  "Nobody 
need  to  come  in  here  an'  act  out  Script  ur' 
times,  while  my  back 's  achin'  an'  my  legs  are 
numb.  If  you  want  to  do  anything  besides 
cackle,  you  better  go  up  an'  see  that  God-for- 
saken Luke  Evans  an'  tell  him  to  bring  back 
our  baby.  Come,  now,  you  go  !  you  go !  "  She 
was  almost  cooing  at  him. 

The  Elder,  although  no  practical  man  as  con- 
cerned his  mortal  body,  awoke  to  energy  over 
spiritual  issues.  "  I  will  go  there,"  he  said.  "  I 
will  carry  the  message."  And  before  she  could 
add  more  unto  it,  he  was  gone. 

So  it  happened  that  Luke,  frowning  over  his 
work  of  hammering  together  a  baby's  wagon  in 
the  shed,  while  the  baby  occupied  a  clothes- 
basket  at  his  side,  looked  from  the  shadow  fall- 
ing before  him  and  saw  the  Elder  in  the  door- 
way. Elder  Kent  was  smiling  at  him,  a  smile 
of  chosen  comradeship.  It  was  an  illumining 
without  admixture  of  mirth,  the  overflow  from 
a  heart  in  a  perpetual  attitude  of  benediction. 

"  Mrs.-Horner  wants  the  child,"  he  said,  with 
no  preamble. 

"Well,  she  won't  get  her/'  remarked  Luke, 
trueing  a  wheel. 


80  KING'S   END 

The  Elder  sat  down  on  the  chopping-block, 
and  bent  forward  to  put  one  slender  finger  on 
the  baby's  cheek.  It  was  always  amazing  to 
him,  in  his  isolated  life,  to  see  anything  so 
small  and  sweet. 

"  Are  you  a  Christian  ? "  he  asked  inciden- 
tally. 

"  No,  I  ain't.  Nor  a  Mormon.  Nor  an  idol- 
ater. Nor  I  don't  believe  there  's  any  God." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  asked  the  other,  with  a  sym- 
pathy quite  unstudied.  "  That 's  too  bad." 

Luke  looked  up  at  him  under  brows  suspi- 
ciously bent.  He  smelled  a  rhetorical  trap,  but 
the  Elder  was  looking  him  in  the  face  serenely. 
That  sweet  tranquillity  but  spurred  the  doubter 
on. 

"  You  say  you  believe  in  God,"  he  said  scorn- 
fully, between  hammerings.  "  You  don't  —  or 
else  you  ain't  used  your  brains.  If  there  was 
a  God,  an'  He  was  good,  would  He  let  things 
happen  —  the  things  that  do  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  Elder  simply,  "if  the  things 
were  evil.  But  there  is  no  evil.  No  blot  on 
creation,  not  one."  He  looked  adoringly  out 
where  the  spring  trees  were  shimmering  and 
apple  blooms  burst  warmly  into  pink.  The 
moment  seemed  to  him  divine  :  an  amazing  an- 
swer to  months  of  travail  wherein  he  had  inter- 


KING'S   END  81 

rogated  the  stars,  the  growing  grass,  even  the 
wonders  of  frost  and  snow.  He  had  fought  his 
way  alone  to  a  desert  spring ;  and  here,  by  fine 
according  miracle,  was  one  who  also  thirsted, 
and  for  whom  the  draught  was  meant. 

Luke  laughed  scornfully. 

"  What  should  you  say  if  you  never  'd  had  a 
chance  to  learn  anything  ? "  he  asked,  with  the 
accusing  passion  of  Ishmael.  "If  the  boys 
hooted  at  you  —  little  devils !  —  when  you  went 
to  school  because  you  belonged  to  Old  Larrups 
up  on  the  mountain  ?  What  should  you  say 
when  you  see  him  kick  your  mother,  an'  you  too 
little  to  kill  him  ?  God ! "  The  word  was  a 
curse. 

"Yet/'  said  the  Elder,  with  authority,  "all 
those  things  were  not  evil ;  they  were  good." 

"  Oh,  were  they  ?  You  can  tell  that  to  the 
marines.  You  an'  me  have  talked  enough." 

"  I  know  they  were  good,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  a  lingering  passion  of  his  own,  "  because  I 
have  had  a  long  life,  and  I  can  see  now  that  evil 
is  one  of  the  ways  of  God.  If  the  bad  man  is 
bad,  it  is  because  he  is  ignorant  of  the  road. 
He  is  taking  a  long,  long  path,  when  it  might 
be  shortened.  But  all  the  roads  lead  home." 

Something,  perhaps  only  the  presence  of  a 
blameless  age,  subdued  the  scoffer.  He  had 


82  KING'S   END 

slight  respect  for  words ;  but  he  was  not  deaf  to 
honesty. 

"That  may  be,"  he  remarked  grimly,  "but  if 
I  meet  Old  Larrups,  it  won't  hender  my  makin' 
short  work  of  him,  in  hell  or  anywheres  else." 

"  That  may  be  your  appointed  task,"  said  the 
Elder,  with  cheerfulness.  "He  and  you  may 
have  to  take  the  long  road  together.  I  don't 
understand  evil.  It  is  a  mystery  to  me;  but 
God  has  told  me  I  need  not  understand." 

"  Where  'd  you  get  your  news  ?  "  asked  Luke, 
struggling  against  some  natural  deference  for 
years  and  their  fruitage. 

There  were  no  professional  barriers  about  the 
Elder.  He  recognized  his  kinship  with  souls, 
whether  or  not  they  walked  his  way,  and  an- 
swered questions  quite  simply  and  directly. 

"  I  am  old,  you  know,"  he  repeated.  "  I  've 
been  all  my  life  thinking  and  praying,  chiefly 
over  sin.  I  Ve  been  all  my  life  doubting  God 
because  He  allowed  sin  to  be  —  and  pain.  And 
suddenly  it  was  borne  in  on  me  that  He  is 
good,  and  the  world  is  good,  and  wrong  is  only 
goodness  we  don't  understand  ;  I  can't  tell  you, 
man,  I  can't  tell  you !  But  I  know."  Tears 
sprang  into  his  eyes,  tears  of  hopeless  longing 
for  an  expression  ever  beyond  him.  What  words 
had  he  for  the  great  nature  paeans  he  heard  in 
the  darkness  ? 


KING'S   END  83 

Luke  glanced  at  him  curiously,  and  stayed  his 
hand  from  work. 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  believe  it  all  right,"  he  said 
roughly.  "If  I  did,  I  should  have  precious 
little  to  worry  about." 

The  Elder's  face  lighted  magically  from 
within. 

"Ah,  that's  it,"  he  said.  "You've  got  it. 
You  are  a  part  of  His  creation,  a  part  of  Him. 
You  are  not  outside.  You  can't  be  afraid  any 
more  than  that  bird  would  be,  if  a  limb  broke 
under  him."  He  had  never  heard  the  poet's 
great  quatrain ;  the  bird  itself  had  taught  him. 

Luke  turned  back  to  his  hammering. 

"  Want  to  send  any  word  about  the  baby  ? " 
asked  Elder  Kent,  rising. 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  If  you  've  begun  to  set  by  her  "  — 

"  Oh,  drop  it ! "  said  the  outcast  scornfully. 
"  I  took  her  to  pay  off  old  scores,  an'  I  'm  keep- 
in'  her  to  show  I  'm  a  hog.  That 's  all  there  is 
about  it."  The  Elder  broke  a  horse-radish  leaf 
and  set  it  upright  in  the  basket,  cutting  off  a 
sunbeam  from  the  baby's  chin.  "  I  '11  drag  the 
basket  over  here,"  said  Luke ;  but  the  silent 
service  touched  him. 

Elder  Kent  went  abstractedly  away,  and  Luke 
pulled  the  basket  out  of  the  sun,  and  then  stood 


84  KING'S   END 

over  it,  musing.  His  black  brows  were  bent. 
He  had  scant  understanding  of  himself  and  his 
feeling  for  the  little  creature  when  he  was  alone 
with  it.  So  far  the  child  had  been  a  wonder  of 
goodness,  and  there  was  no  difficulty  in  keeping 
its  running-gear  in  order.  Big  Joan,  unknown 
to  her  mistress,  had  come  up  that  morning  with 
a  bundle  of  its  clothes,  and  given  him  counsel. 
Joan  adored  the  baby,  but  her  sympathies  were 
with  him.  Something  in  the  crude  valor  of 
fighting  for  one's  blood  appealed  to  her ;  but  she 
was  loyal  to  the  household,  and  never  spoke  her 
partisanship.  Now,  faced  by  the  awful  prospect 
of  bathing  the  child  and  putting  fresh  clothes  on 
her,  Luke  had  his  first  moment  of  real  horror 
over  what  he  had  done.  He  stood  appalled  be- 
fore a  vista  of  years  —  two,  three  —  when  that 
helpless  body  would  need  a  nurture  he  abhorred. 
He  wished  he  had  taken  his  revenge  another 
way.  The  thought  of  Nancy  returned  upon  him 
sweetly,  and  made  him  warm  from  head  to  foot : 
the  gracious  vision  of  her,  when,  half  shrinking 
from  her  share  in  the  great  maternity  of  the 
world,  she  held  the  child  against  her  breast  and 
challenged  his  designs.  He  longed  for  her  with 
an  exceeding  longing  which  seemed  to  him  the 
outgrowth  of  his  needs,  and  so  no  treason  against 
the  dead  woman,  to  whom  he  held  himself 


KING'S   END  85 

bound  with  an  abiding  loyalty.  It  was  a  part 
of  his  obstinacy  to  prove  a  faithful  husband  be- 
cause his  flouters  called  him  no  husband  at  all. 
The  vision  of  Milly  also  arose  and  waited  dispas- 
sionately to  be  compared  with  the  living  girl,  — 
the  dead  one  who  had  believed  implicitly  what- 
ever he  told  her,  and  yet  who  failed  him  when 
the  test  of  courage  came.  Nancy  seemed  to 
him  all  soul,  yet  with  an  altogether  beguiling 
presence.  He  whispered  her  name,  and,  calling 
"  Come ! "  looked  down  the  silent  road  in  search 
of  her. 

But  Nancy  was  lying  straight  on  her  bed, 
overthrown  by  the  morning's  duel.  All  through 
the  last  years  she  had  strained  forward  on  a  fly- 
ing track;  now  she  had  fallen.  Her  mother 
came  to  her  with  tea,  and  she  could  not  drink 
it;  for  days  she  lay  there  silent,  swallowing 
something  when  faintness  forced  her.  Then, 
because  the  walls  of  the  room  had  grown  so 
hateful,  she  dressed  and  crawled  downstairs. 
The  Elder  had  gone  prospecting  for  souls,  and 
Miss  Julia  sat  in  the  kitchen,  pale  as  Nancy  her- 
self, yet  clad  in  the  invisible  armor  of  endurance. 
Susan  clucked  about  with  a  loving  solicitude 
and  made  blanc-mange  for  dinner. 

"Judge  Hill  is  failin',"  she  said  cheerfully  at 
the  table,  sharing  her  tidings  from  the  world 
without. 


86  KING'S   END 

A  flicker  of  interest  passed  over  the  girl's 
face.  She  looked  up  at  Julia.  But  the  old  woman 
lifted  her  cup  with  a  steady  hand  and  drank  her 
tea,  strong  as  it  could  be  poured.  Nancy  knew 
that  was  in  preparation  for  the  night.  When 
dinner  was  over,  she  followed  Julia  out  of  doors, 
where  she  had  gone  to  take  in  the  clothes. 
Alive  now  to  the  misery  of  the  world,  Nancy 
felt  a  passionate  pity  for  her. 

"  I  '11  go  over  there  with  you  to-night,  if  you 
want  I  should,"  she  said  in  an  undertone. 

Julia  took  a  clothes-pin  from  her  mouth  to 
answer  coldly,  — 

"Where?" 

"The  Cumnor  Road." 

"  You  need  n't.  I  've  been  alone :  every 
night." 

"  But  I  want  to.     Oh,  please  let  me  !  " 

Julia  looked  at  her  kindly,  with  a  little  con- 
ventional smile.  Nancy  understood,  in  a  dim 
fashion,  that  she  was  holding  herself  in  check. 
If  she  seemed  hard,  it  was  because  the  world 
voices  sounded  very  hollow  and  far  off,  while 
her  own  woe  cried  so  near. 

"I  only  meant  you  needn't,"  she  answered. 
"  I  'd  like  to  have  you.  But  it  would  n't  be  wise 
for  you,  now  you  're  under  the  weather." 

"  I  'd  like  to,"  urged  Nancy  again.    "  It  '11  do 


KING'S   END  87 

me  good  to  think  about  something  else."  No 
sooner  had  she  sorrow  of  her  own  than  she 
tried  to  find  out  other  woes  that  might  be 
slaked.  A  blow  had  fallen  on  her.  It  seemed 
a  judgment ;  and  she  looked  about  within  her- 
self for  the  sin  it  was  meant  to  castigate.  Oh, 
poor  pathos  of  humanity !  we  feel  a  wound 
and  then  search  for  the  god  who  watched  our 
blundering  way  and  bludgeoned  us  for  ills  we 
innocently  did.  So  Nancy,  not  knowing  in  what 
fashion  her  own  web  could  be  unraveled,  looked 
piteously  up  to  heaven  and  began  doing  sacrifice. 
And  because  her  mother  told  her  how  Luke 
walked  to  the  smithy  with  his  gun  over  his 
shoulder  and  the  baby  in  its  little  cart,  and  how 
old  Mrs.  Horner  cried  out  upon  the  village  to 
the  effect  that  the  child  might  never  have  had 
a  bath,  she  slipped  out  unperceived,  that  after- 
noon, and  climbed  the  mountain.  Here  again 
she  ritight  find  an  altar. 

The  Evans  kitchen  was  in  prime  order.  Luke 
himself,  surprisingly  well-shaven,  stood  in  the 
doorway,  his  eyes  upon  the  road.  Only  the 
baby  had  not  shared  in  the  general  amelioration. 
She  was  whimpering  as  if  now  she  knew  the 
recipe  by  heart. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Luke  fervently,  "  I  knew  you  'd 
come ! " 


88  KING'S   END 

Nancy  looked  upon  him  in  some  surprise. 
Small  tokens  of  gallantry  had  no  significance  for 
her,  unused  to  the  vagaries  of  the  preening  male. 
Martin  Jeffries  was  not  wont  to  woo  her  softly, 
and  so  long  had  she  been  considered  his  pro- 
perty that  other  young  men  had  only  desired 
her  from  afar.  "  How 's  the  baby  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Do  you  give  her  a  bath  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  she  's  real  clean,"  returned  Luke, 
smiling  in  what  she  thought  a  vacuous  fashion. 
It  only  made  him  look  shiftless,  and  she  con- 
cluded the  bath  could  not  be  thorough. 

"  Did  you  give  her  one  to-day  ? " 

"No." 

"Then  I  will.  Can  you  heat  up  the 
water  ?  " 

He  tucked  some  kindlings  in  the  stove.  His 
motions  had  a  glorified  alacrity. 

"  Nancy,"  he  ventured,  when  there  was  a 
crackling  under  the  cover,  "  you  know  the  books 
you  spoke  of,  —  the  ones  you  did  n't  like  ? " 
He  pointed  to  the  shelf  where  rested  his  former 
pride  and  glory,  the  unread  volumes  of  revolt. 
Nancy's  eyes  followed.  "  I  Ve  covered  'em  up," 
he  continued  shyly.  "  I  nailed  a  piece  o'  calico 
across  the  shelf.  You  look.  You  can't  see 
'em." 

"  I  should  n't  want  to  see  them,"  said  Nancy 


KING'S   END  89 

virtuously.     "  You  'd  better  have  burned  them 
up." 

His  face  fell.  The  books  stood  for  years  of 
pride  in  a  splendid  unbelief.  They  were  his 
unused  weapons ;  they  helped  him  face  the 
social  order  unabashed. 

"  I  guess  I  could  n't  do  that,"  he  said  humbly. 
He  looked  at  her,  his  seeking  heart  in  his  eyes. 
Already  the  memory  of  Milly  was  one  of  the 
"  old,  far-off,  forgotten  things  "  of  another  life. 
Nancy  met  his  glance,  and  felt  annoyed.  This 
was  the  look  which,  from  Martin,  held  her  even 
while  she  longed  to  flee. 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  're  ever  going  to  take 
care  of  this  baby,"  she  said,  with  the  assurance 
of  a  district  visitor.  "  You  '11  have  her  sick  be- 
fore you  know  it ;  mother  says  so.  You  ought 
not  to  leave  her  alone." 

"I  don't." 

"  Well,  how  much  good  does  it  do  her  to  be 
hauled  'round  in  a  cart  and  lie  in  the  shade 
while  you  shoe  horses  ?  It 's  a  shame.  You 
ought  to  have  a  woman  here  to  see  to  her." 
She  spoke  innocently,  without  a  mawkish 
thought. 

Luke  clenched  his  hands.  "  Oh,  if  I  could  !  " 
he  cried  passionately.  "  I  see  now  what  I  Ve 
missed.  If  I  could  have  her  —  and  marry  her 


90  KING'S   END 

—  and  know  everybody  knew  she  belonged  to 
me  —  Oh,  Nancy  !  "  He  turned  sharply  away. 
She  felt  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  and 
thought  he  was  lamenting  his  lost  love,  neither 
maid  nor  wife.  So,  softened  by  trouble,  her 
heart  warmed  to  him. 

"There!  there!"  she  said  gently.  "The 
water  's  boiling.  Should  you  just  as  soon  go 
out  while  I  wash  her  ?  I  don't  know  how  to  do 
it  very  well." 

Luke  went  into  the  shed  without  a  word  and 
sat  on  the  chopping-block,  kicking  his  heels  and 
listening  to  the  voice  of  life.  For  life  was  calling 
him.  The  maiden  was  here.  "Throw  off  the 
clogs  of  hate  and  circumstance,"  whispered  the 
unseen  beguiler.  "  The  spring  has  come.  Love 
and  be  loved."  But  all  he  thought  was  that  the 
moments  were  going  fast. 

It  took  Nancy  a  long  time  to  wash  the  baby. 
She  began  it  tentatively,  almost  with  distaste ; 
but  when  a  pink  foot  kicked  against  her  breast, 
she  suddenly  imprisoned  it  in  one  hand  and 
kissed  it  softly.  She  hardly  knew  what  it  made 
her  think  of,  nor  why  her  cheek  was  red. 

"Where  do  you  keep  her  clothes  ? "  she  called 
at  last,  and  Luke,  ecstatically  silent,  came  in 
and  opened  the  drawer.  Then  Nancy  slipped 
on  little  garments,  and  the  baby  murmured  at 


KING'S   END  91 

her.  She  did  not  heed  him  now,  watching  her 
from  the  doorway.  The  sight  seemed  to  him 
wonderful :  the  happier  child  and  the  beneficent 
vision,  half  angel  and  half  mother. 

"  She  ought  to  be  fed,  I  guess,"  she  suggested, 
smiling  up  at  him.  He  had  gained  an  apparent 
nearness  never  accorded  Martin,  because  as  yet 
he  made  no  demands  on  her,  and  because  he  was 
in  trouble.  , 

"  I  can  do  that,"  he  answered,  also  smiling. 
"I  Ve  learnt  how.  You  see." 

He  warmed  the  milk,  and  the  baby  made  an- 
ticipatory remarks.  Then  he  fed  her  from  an 
old  coffee-pot  with  rags  tied  over  the  nozzle. 

"  Do  you  wash  it  out  ? "  asked  Nancy  anx- 
iously. "  Everything 's  got  to  be  clean." 

When  he  laid  the  child  back  in  the  cradle,  it 
was  more  content  than  he.  But  now,  for  him, 
there  was  some  meaning  in  the  summer  world. 
He  looked  down  at  his  hands,  estimating  their 
strength,  and  the  veins  in  his  forehead  swelled 
with  pride :  for,  he  reflected,  he  could  support 
a  woman. 

"  Do  you  want  to  live  in  the  country  always  ? " 
he  asked. 

Nancy  had  risen  and  was  pulling  down  the 
sleeves  over  her  strong  white  arms.  "  I  don't 
know,"  she  said  absently.  Her  mind  was  with 
her  own  lost  argosies.  "  I  should  n't  care." 


92  KING'S   END 

Then  it  burst  forth.  "  I  ain't  much  to  look 
at,"  cried  the  man,  placing  himself  before  her, 
"  but  I  'd  be  good  to  you.  I  'd  take  care  of  you. 
Oh,  Nancy,  there  's  nobody  like  you  ! " 

The  meaning  of  it  struck  upon  her  like 
Apollo's  hand  on  Daphne's  chilling  branches. 
"  Is  that  what  you  mean  ? "  she  cried  fiercely. 
"  Oh,  how  can  you  ? " 

He  shrank  before  her,  not,  she  felt,  because 
he  recognized  the  justice  of  the  lash,  but  from 
pain  alone.  Then  her  old  partisanship  of  him 
as  a  downtrodden  creature  subdued  her  to  some 
tolerance. 

"When  I  came  up  here  just  to  help  you  out," 
she  said  brokenly,  "  and  Milly  "  —  It  was  im- 
possible to  go  on.  She  meant  to  say,  in  the 
country  phrasing,  "and  Milly  not  cold  in  her 
grave ; "  but  at  the  thought  of  the  dead  girl  and 
herself  in  one  relation  to  him,  her  virgin  pride 
took  fire.  "  You  must  n't  ever  speak  so  to  me," 
she  concluded  firmly,  and  turned  to  go. 

"  Nancy,  you  '11  come  up  again  ? " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Then  I  don't  know  what  '11  become  of  me." 
He  spoke  with  a  desperate  denial  not  meant  to 
be  dramatic.  She  saw  the  old  dogged  look  en- 
throned on  his  face,  and  confessed  to  herself 
that  she  did  not  know  either.  "  After  all,"  he 


KING'S   END  93 

concluded  obstinately,  "  is  there  any  harm  in  a 
man's  tellin'  a  girl  he  thinks  more  of  her  than 
all  the  world  ? " 

"  It  is  an  insult  from  you,"  she  cried  hotly, 
"  when  you  say  you  don't  believe  in  any  God 
and  "  —  She  could  not  go  on,  but  he  under- 
stood her.  It  cut  him  to  the  soul  to  think  this 
chaste  creature  could  suspect  him  of  asking  her 
to  bear  the  gibes  of  an  undiscerning  people. 

"  I  'd  beg  you  to  marry  me ; "  he  trembled ; 
"yes,  Nancy,  on  my  bended  knees."  Why  had 
he  not  begged  the  other  woman  ?  He  did  not 
know.  The  world  swam  before  him  :  this  great 
planet,  ruled  by  a  hampering  law,  and  his  own 
little  orb  of  dark  revolt.  Only  he  knew  she  was 
beautiful  to  him  with  the  beauty  of  the  spirit, 
and  he  clung  to  her  compassion. 

Nancy  went  quietly  past  him,  with  a  signi- 
ficant dignity.  She  paused  on  the  threshold, 
and  looked  back.  "I  shan't  come  again  un- 
less I  think  I  ought  to,  for  the  baby,"  she  said. 
"  I  '11  tell  Big  Joan  to  come.  But,  anyway,  we 
must  n't  speak  of  this."  She  looked  very  stately 
and  tall,  stepping  down  the  road,  and  Luke 
groaned  aloud,  remembering  that  other  day 
when  he  had  not  offended  her.  Then,  because 
ideal  passion  had  not  obscured  the  natural  man, 
he  cursed  the  god  of  circumstance  for  making 


94  KING'S   END 

him  what  he  was  and  so  denying  him  his  nat- 
ural rights. 

That  afternoon  Susan  Eliot,  worried  out  of 
her  taciturnity,  had  stopped  Martin  Jeffries  at 
her  gate. 

"  Here ! "  she  called  to  him.  "  Can  you  find 
out  what 's  the  matter  with  Nancy  ? " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  You  seen  her  lately  ? " 

"No." 

"  She  looks  awfully.  She  has  ever  since 
that  mornm'  she  went  to  your  house  to  pay  up. 
I  'm  plagued  to  death."  Martin  took  off  his 
hat,  and  ran  a  hand  through  his  thick  hair. 
"  Ain't  your  mother  said  anything  ? "  persisted 
Susan. 

"  No.  Mother  would  n't  know,  Her  head  's 
in  the  sand." 

Susan  shaded  her  eyes  and  peered  up  the 
road.  "  Ain't  that  Nancy  now  ? "  she  asked. 
"You  go  an'  meet  her.  You  find  out.  I  '11  run." 
She  whisked  into  the  house,  and  Martin  went 
on.  He  was  the  son  of  her  spirit ;  he  knew 
that,  and  the  thought,  though  he  smiled  over  it, 
gave  him  some  slight  comfort  when  Nancy  was 
cold.  He  met  her  in  the  way,  and  was  shocked 
at  her  pallor  and  the  droop  of  her  frame. 

"  Don't  go  home,  Nancy,"  said  he.  "  Come 
for  a  little  walk." 


KING'S   END  95 

She  looked  up  at  him.  He  could  see  that 
there  were  dark  circles  under  her  eyes,  and  that 
all  the  hope  had  died  out  of  them  :  all  the  self- 
confidence,  too.  Her  old  resistance  of  him  had 
melted  away.  But  that  was  the  more  alarming ; 
it  seemed  as  if  she  had  hardly  life  enough  left 
to  resist.  "  I  can't,"  she  said,  still  looking  at 
him  wanly.  "  I  'm  tired." 

He  turned  about  with  her,  and  they  walked 
silently  in  at  the  gate  and  up  the  path.  At  the 
door  she  stopped  and  said,  "  Good-by." 

"  No,"  said  Martin,  "  let  me  come  in  a  min- 
ute." 

She  led  the  way,  with  the  same,  air  of  finding 
denial  troublesome,  and  he  followed  her  into  the 
sitting-room  where  the  afternoon  sun  lay  in  a 
pleasant  dream.  Nancy  sank  into  the  great 
rocking-chair,  and,  holding  her  hat  in  her  lap, 
pushed  her  fingers  wearily  over  her  forehead. 
Martin  drew  a  chair  in  front  of  her. 

"What  is  it,  Nancy?"  he  asked.  "What's 
the  matter  ? " 

She  tried  to  smile  away  the  question,  but,  in 
spite  of  her,  two  tears  gathered  and  coursed 
slowly  down  her  cheeks.  Then  two  more  came, 
and  all  the  hurrying  flood.  Martin  waited,  hold- 
ing his  hands  hard  upon  his  knees. 

« I  can't  do  this,"  she  said,  at  last.  "They  '11 
be  in." 


96  KING'S   END 

He  got  up,  and  took  her  by  the  hand.  "  You 
come  with  me,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Come  out  to 
the  swing,  and  get  it  over." 

She  rose,  beset  by  the  burden  of  her  tears, 
and  let  him  lead  her  out  by  the  side  door  to  the 
fragrant  orchard.  There,  in  a  corner  by  the 
wall,  was  the  old  swing,  kept  from  childhood's 
days.  Martin  himself  had  renewed  the  rope 
from  time  to  time.  Why,  he  never  told ;  per- 
haps it  was  because  he  had  seen  grown-up  Nancy 
there,  drying  her  wet  hair  in  sun  and  wind,  and 
pushing  the  stones  with  a  careless  foot.  But 
this  time  he  took  her  to  the  flat  rock  where  the 
wall  gave  a  back,  and  there  she  sat  down  and 
wiped  her  eyes. 

"  Don't  you  tell  mother,"  she  besought  him. 

"No." 

"  You  see,  I  went  to  make  the  last  payment, 
and  I  found  I  had  n't  made  any  at  all."  She 
looked  at  him  in  hopeless  acceptance  of  the  in- 
credible. Martin  stared  at  her. 

"Try  to  tell  me,"  he  said  patiently.  "You 
know  you  paid  the  rest.  What  makes  you 
think  you  did  n't  ? " 

"They  were  n't  written  down." 

"  Did  n't  he  write  'em  down  ? " 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  saw  him." 

"  And  they  were  n't  there  ? " 


KING'S   END  97 

"No." 

"  Then  the  note  was  forged." 

"  Oh  no  !  it  was  mine.  It  was  my  writing,  — 
and  my  paper.  You  know  you  laughed  at  me 
for  using  my  best  paper,  with  the  dove  up  in 
the  corner.  Aunt  Lindy  gave  it  to  me  that 
Christmas." 

Martin  was  watching  her  keenly.  He  kept 
his  eyes  on  hers,  as  if  to  steady  her. 

"  When  did  I  laugh  at  you  ?  " 

"That  day  in  the  schoolhouse." 

"What  day?" 

"Why,"  said  Nancy,  with  a  touch  of  temper, 
"I'd  just  begun  to  teach,  and  you  came  in 
after  school  to  get  me  to  go  to  ride.  It  was 
your  birthday,  and  I  gave  you  my  'Pilgrim's 
Progress.'  I  was  copying  the  note,  and  looked 
in  the  arithmetic  to  see  if  I  had  got  the  word- 
ing right ;  and  that  was  why  you  laughed.  You 
said,  '  Let  old  Mixon  make  it  out  himself ; '  and 
I  told  you  I  wanted  to  be  sure  't  was  right. 
And  I  used  my  new  paper  —  with  the  dove." 

"  Ah ! "  breathed  Martin.  The  day  was  com- 
ing back  to  him.  He  remembered  other  things 
about  it,  —  things  Nancy  had  never  known.  For 
that  spring  marked  the  end  of  their  boy  and 
girl  companionship.  He  had  ended  it  himself 
by  telling  her  he  was  a  man  now,  and  full  of 


98  KING'S   END 

love;  so  he  had  frightened  the  bird  from  his 
hand.  The  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  had  been  the 
last  thing  she  ever  gave  him,  perhaps  because 
she  was  afraid,  in  her  fierce  remoteness,  of  draw- 
ing him  her  way. 

"  Nancy,"  he  said,  "you  give  the  whole  thing 
up  to  me.  I  '11  sift  it." 

"  You  can't.  It  '11  make  talk.  And  mother 
must  n't  know.  It  would  kill  her." 

"  No,  it  won't  make  talk  either.  I  '11  see  to 
that.  Poor  little  girl!  poor  Nancy!  You  go 
in  and  lay  down.  Stop  thinking  about  it." 

In  the  midst  of  her  distress,  she  was  drearily 
conscious  of  wishing  he  would  say  "  lie  "  instead 
of  "lay,"  though  it  seemed  a  smaller  matter 
now.  But  Martin  wished  to  be  gone ;  she  saw 
that.  He  was  in  such  haste  that  she  thought 
a  little  bitterly  of  his  persistency  in  time  of  joy 
and  his  imperviousness  to  grief. 

"  Mind  what  I  tell  you,"  he  called,  striding 
across  the  orchard  and  over  the  gap.  "Stop 
thinking,  and  go  eat  a  good  supper." 

Then  he  went  home  as. if,  Mrs.  Eliot  thought, 
he  was  "sent  for,"  and  sat  down  opposite  Alia 
in  the  sitting-room,  talking  to  her  about  nothing 
at  all  until  she  flushed  and  happiness  entered 
into  her  heart.  His  mother,  getting  supper, 
watched  him  suspiciously,  but  said  no  word. 


IV 

THAT  night  Nancy  sat  within  the  pasture 
Boundary  near  the  Cumnor  Road,  while  Julia 
Kent  went  on  her  lonely  quest.  They  had 
crossed  the  woods  in  silence,  though  two  or 
three  times  Nancy  thought  she  heard  a  footstep 
behind  them  and  the  snapping  of  a  twig.  But 
so  far,  she  was  unmoved  ;  distraught  by  greater 
issues,  she  could  have  challenged  night  to  show 
a  spectre  blacker  than  life  had  conjured  for  her. 
Julia  had  bade  her  go  no  farther. 

•'"If  he's  dying,"  she  said,  "I  shall  want  to 
be  alone.  I  '11.  come  back  and  tell  you.  Don't 
wait  more  'n  half  an  hour.  No,  I  '11  come  any- 
way." So  she  glided  into  the  night,  and  Nancy 
was  left  to  brood  over  her  hope's  betrayal  and 
the  questions  that  beset  her  now  incessantly. 

Must  she  begin  the  weary  road  over  again, 
or,  when  Elder  Kent  should  go,  take  up  her 
cross  and  follow  ?  The  Elder  was  settled  now 
contentedly,  spending  his  time  on  the  mountain, 
or  with  Luke.  He  had  periods  of  thus  select- 
ing some  soul,  and  wooing  it  to  seek  out  God  ; 


loo  KING'S   END 

but  he  might,  at  any  instant,  resume  his  vagrant 
march.  Should  she  go  ?  What  did  God  wish  ? 
Suddenly  fear,  unknown  to  her  until  this  sum- 
mer, returned  upon  her ;  she  felt  an  alien  pre- 
sence in  the  dark.  Yet  only  Julia  appeared  out 
of  the  shadow,  and  Nancy,  relieved  though 
trembling,  put  out  a  hand  and  then,  ashamed, 
withdrew  it.  Julia  came  swiftly  up  to  her. 

"  He  's  very  low,"  she  said  sharply.  "  I  Ve 
got  to  stay.  I  '11  cross  the  pasture  with  you, 
first.  I  don't  want  to  be  back  yet ;  the  house 
is  n't  settled  enough.  They  keep  running  out, 
one  or  another.  I  '11  wait  till  the  watchers 
come."  She  was  drawing  Nancy  away  home- 
ward, but  the  girl  resisted  and  whispered  in  her 
ear :  — 

"  I  think  there  's  somebody  'round  —  in  that 
clump.  Don't  you  ? " 

Lurkers  of  the  night  were  nothing  to  the 
fierce  old  woman,  dominated  by  the  smothered 
passion  of  her  youth.  She  strode  over  to  the 
grove  of  pine  and  underbrush,  searched  it,  and 
came  back  unmoved. 

"  There 's  nobody  there,"  she  said.  "  You  're 
nervous.  You  ought  to  be  abed.  Come."  But 
the  man  lay  wrapped  in  another  shadow,  not 
near  enough  to  hear  their  speech,  though  near 
enough  for  watching. 


KING'S   END'1  loi 

Julia  walked  rapidly,  and  Nancy,  from  the 
poverty  of  her  strength,  had  some  ado  to  keep 
up  with  her.  The  old  woman  talked  sharply,  as 
if  she  challenged  the  night,  and  Nancy,  wishing 
she  would  lower  her  voice,  was  ashamed  to  ask 
it.  At  last,  when  they  were  half  across  the 
pasture,  and  the  man  in  the  shadow  far  behind, 
Julia  sank  upon  a  rock  and  held  her  hands  to 
her  throat. 

"  I  must  rest,"  she  said,  "  or  God  Almighty 
knows  how  I  shall  get  through  this  night. 
Nancy,  you  mark  me  —  you  mark  my  words  : 
the  things  that  are  natural  are  right.  Folks 
must  make  way  for  'em.  Nobody  made  way 
for  me,  and  so  I  went  crazy.  And  I  need  n't 
have  been.  I  could  have  been  saved."  The 
dry  passion  of  her  voice  was  terrible  to  hear. 
Nancy  could  not  believe  that  this  was  the  little 
creature  who  sat  and  sewed  with  farmers*  wives, 
talking  briskly  of  trifles.  "  See  how  it  ended," 
she  continued.  "  I  thought  I  was  doing  what 
was  sent  me;  and  see  how  it  ended !"  She 
seemed  to  be  scourging  herself  back  to  the 
past,  as  if  there  only  could  she  feel  at  home. 
"He  was  sixteen  —  brother  John  —  when  it  all 
begun.  He  'd  always  been  different,  and  mother 
liked  him  best.  And  when  he  was  sixteen,  reli- 
gion got  hold  of  him,  and  he  went  into  the 


102  KING'S   END 

woods  stark  naked,  all  but  the  old  buffalo  robe, 
and  told  mother  he  was  going  to  live  there  till 
the  coming  of  the  Lord.  She  cried  and  cried. 
She  used  to  carry  pies  down  to  the  swamp 
where  he  built  him  a  hut,  and  he  would  n't 
touch  'em.  I  was  a  little  girl  then.  I  thought 
he  was  John  Baptist,  and  I  told  mother  't  was 
all  right,  for  he  'd  eat  locusts  and  wild  honey. 
I  could  laugh  now ;  for  I  thought  the  locusts 
were  blooms,  and  I  wondered  what  he'd  do 
when  they  were  gone.  I  used  to  chew  'em 
myself,  and  it  seemed  wonderful  they  were  so 
sweet ;  and  when  they  did  n't  stay  me,  I  thought 
it  was  because  I  was  n't  called.  So  it  went  on, 
and  Stuart  Hill  came  to  me  and  brought  me 
bunches  of  Provence  roses  —  O  my  God !  my 
God !  how  afraid  I  am  of  June  till  the  roses  are 
gone  by !  —  and  one  day  he  kissed  me  and  I 
kissed  him  back.  Then  mother  was  taken  sick, 
and  she  made  me  promise,  when  she  was  dying, 
that  wherever  brother  went  I  'd  go  too,  and  I  'd 
tend  him  as  she  would.  And  she  died ;  and  I 
told  Stuart  Hill,  and  said  good-by  to  him,  and 
tramped  the  roads,  while  brother  called  upon 
sinners,  and  I  cursed  God  in  my  heart !  "  She 
rocked  back  and  forth,  a  writhing  figure  of  the 
night. 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  the  door  and  ask  them 


KING'S   END  103 

to  let  you  in  ?  "  cried  Nancy,  her  heart  beating 
the  same  terrible  measure.  "Why  don't  you 
tell  'em  you  've  got  to  be  with  him  ?  " 

The  woman  laughed  a  little  bitter  laugh. 

"  That 's  a  part  of  it,"  she  said.  "  I  would  if 
he  wanted  me ;  but  he  don't.  Do  you  suppose 
he  thinks  of  me  as  I  am,  with  cracks  in  my 
cheeks  and  claws  for  hands  ?  No ;  if  he  sees 
me  now,  as  he  lays  there,  it 's  with  my  hat  on 
the  back  of  my  head  and  the  curls  a-streaming. 
My  God !  my  God !  " 

Nancy  clenched  her  own  hands  tight,  for 
fear  of  imitating  that  motion  of  unbridled  grief. 

"  And  you  heed  it !  "  cried  Julia  fiercely  ; 
"  you  heed  it.  That 's  why  I  tell  you.  If  a 
man  loves  you  and  wants  you,  you  take  him, 
and  don't  go  raving  off  about  altars  and  sacri- 
fices. They  make  me  sick.  Do  you  think  God 
set  us  here  to  strain  ourselves  after  another 
world,  and  forget  the  one  that 's  under  our 
feet  ?  Folderol ! "  She  rose,  and  Nancy  rose 
with  her.  All  this  time  the  shadowy  man  was 
halting  in  a  deeper  shade ;  now  he  slipped  on 
behind. 

"  Did  your  brother  know  ? "  ventured  Nancy. 

The  old  woman  laughed,  a  hopeless  note  over 
the  dullness  of  humankind. 

"  He  ?  no,"  she  said,  with  a  tender  scorn  of 


104  KING'S   END 

him.  "  He  don't  know  anything  but  God  and 
Judgment.  Yes,  he  does  sometimes.  I  Ve 
seen  him  look  right  into  folks  and  tell  'em 
what 's  in  their  hearts.  But  not  mine.  I  was 
too  near  to  him.  He  never  saw  mine." 

At  the  boundary  wall  she  turned,  leaving 
Nancy  to  go  on  alone.  The  girl  was  deeply 
stirred.  She  found  it  incredible,  not  that  this 
ancient  thing  should  have  suffered  the  pangs  of 
love,  but  that  anguish,  and  not  a  mere  dull 
memory,  could  still  be  kept  alive.  The  sequel 
of  the  story  repelled  her,  the  fiery  moral.  Was 
the  earth  indeed  to  be  regarded,  as  well  as  some 
chilly  heaven  ?  Must  not  the  righteous  spurn 
it  with  their  feet  ?  Yet  it  was  not  of  her  old 
lover  she  thought  when  her  mind  strayed  thus 
to  ties  and  hearthstones  :  it  was  the  outcast  up 
on  the  mountain  who  had  not  told  her  his  de- 
sire, but  his  great  want  of  her.  Need  she  seek 
her  sacrifice  on  the  highway?  It  might  lie 
rather  in  turning  a  scoffer  to  God  and  mother- 
ing his  nameless  child.  So  she  went  thought- 
fully on,  and  when  she  was  within  her  own  gate 
the  shadow  of  the  man  fleeted  away  unseen. 

For  many  days  Nancy  dragged  herself  about 
like  one  who,  in  suffering  misfortune,  has  sus- 
tained also  some  physical  shock  hostile  to  all 
the  functions  of  life.  It  was  like  a  blow  on 


KING'S  END  105 

the  head :  will  and  motion  were  paralyzed.  So 
for  a  time  she  accepted  her  trouble  slavishly, 
not  knowing  how  to  rise  and  face  it.  But 
one  morning  her  eyes  cleared,  her  heart  beat 
stronger,  and  she  began  to  question.  Some 
one  had  juggled  with  her.  Who  ?  Not  Alia : 
a  shallow  thing,  too  early  bent  on  courtship  and 
vain  wishes,  she  was  yet  honest.  Not  old 
Mixon :  rough  as  he  might  have  seemed  to  alien 
eyes,  he  was  a  bit  of  New  England,  a  lord  of 
the  soil,  scorning  to  hold  his  word  more  lightly 
than  his  bond.  While  impossibilities  balanced 
thus,  her  energy  grew,  and  she  took  her  hat  and 
sped  along  the  road  to  find  Alia  and  say  —  she 
did  not  yet  know  what.  But  at  least  she  had 
risen  from  her  mental  swoon.  She  could  think. 
She  could  speak. 

Alia  was  at  the  kitchen  table,  making  spatter- 
work.  It  was  a  stolen  moment  while  Mrs.  Jef- 
fries swept  the  floors  above,  mercifully  removed 
from  the  temptation  to  make  satirical  remarks 
about  young  ones  playing  with  ink.  Martin  sat 
by  the  window,  behind  the  county  paper.  He 
looked  as  if  he  had  settled  there  for  the  morn- 
ing ;  but  Alia  could  not  know  that  he  had  seen 
Nancy  coming  and  hurried  in  to  filch  their  talk. 
She  was  laboriously  arranging  a  pattern  of 
leaves. 


106  KING'S   END 

"  I  think  this  '11  be  real  pretty  for  Christmas," 
she  said ;  but  before  he  could  reply,  Nancy  was 
in  the  room.  Her  resolve,  so  strenuous,  so 
ignorant  of  its  own  direction,  had  keyed  her  to 
an  unwonted  pitch. 

"Look  here,  Alia,"  she  began,  "something 
has  got  to  be  done  about  that  note." 

Alia  arranged  a  fern  with  a  steady  hand. 
"  Well,  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  say," 
she  answered  sympathetically.  "Nor  I  don't 
know  as  there  's  anything  I  can  do.  It 's  your 
writing.  You  told  me  it  was  yourself." 

"It  is  my  writing,"  owned  Nancy  fiercely, 
"  but  there  's  monkery  about  it.  You  let  me 
see  it  again." 

Alia  carefully  wiped  her  hands  and  took  out 
her  father's  pocket-book.  From  the  papers 
within  she  separated  the  mysterious  note  and 
held  it  forth;  but  when  Nancy  would  have 
taken  it,  she  kept  it  in  a  guarding  hand.  The 
two  girls  stood  there,  holding  the  bit  of  paper, 
the  one  subjugated  again  by  her  old  distrac- 
tion and  bewilderment,  the  other  flushed  yet 
calm.  Martin  put  down  his  paper  and  looked 
at  them. 

"  What  is  it  about  a  note  ? "  he  asked. 

They  started.  Nancy  hardly  saw  him,  but 
Alia  had  not  forgotten  him  for  a  moment.  It 


KING'S   END  107 

was  she  who  answered,  looking  him  in  the  face 
with  distressful  eyes  :  "  Nancy  thinks  there 's 
something  queer  about  the  note.  I  can't  make 
anything  of  her." 

"  It  is  n't  my  note,"  said  Nancy  loudly.  She 
flushed  redly.  His  interrogating  voice  had 
stirred  her ;  she  felt  as  if  they  were  speaking 
before  a  judge.  "  Mr.  Mixon  wrote  on  my  note 
—  the  other  one  —  and  the  indorsements  are 
not  here." 

"  Well,  here 's  the  note,  and  that 's  all  I  know 
about  it,"  said  Alia  despairingly.  "  Father  'd 
have  made  a  record.  Would  n't  he  ?  "  she  asked 
of  Martin  humbly.  "  Would  n't  he  ?  " 

"Sure.  Let's  see  the  note."  Alia  passed 
it  to  him  without  demur.  She  dared  not  tell 
him  —  either  because  he  was  a  man,  or  because 
he  was  the  man  she  loved  —  that  it  should  not 
go  out  of  her  hands.  He  held  it  up  to  the 
light,  with  some  vague  memory  that  detective 
stories  had  much  to  say  about  water-marks. 
"  You  think  it  is  n't  the  old  note  ? "  he  said  to 
Nancy.  "  Is  it  like  it  ? " 

"  I  know  it  is  n't  the  old  one,"  she  answered, 
scornful  of  his  irrelevance.  "  I  know  it." 

He  glanced  up  at  Alia.  "  Let 's  see  the  old 
one  and  compare,"  he  ventured  carelessly. 

She  made  an  almost  imperceptible  move- 


To8  KING'S  END 

ment,  and  then  steadied  herself,  looking  at  him 
with  quickening  eyes.  Did  he  doubt  her  ?  Was 
he  laying  a  trap  ? 

"  Why,  this  is  all  the  note  there  is,"  she  said 
patiently. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course !  what  a  fool  I  am ! " 
Again  he  held  it  to  the  light.  There  was  a 
little  brown  stain  on  it,  something  like  the  im- 
press of  a  leaf.  "  Well,  I  can't  make  anything 
of  it."  He  gave  it  back,  and  resumed  his  paper. 

Alia  sighed  quickly,  a  sigh  of  satisfaction. 
He  could  not  care  for  Nancy,  her  heart  said  to 
her.  But  Nancy  only  thought  he  did  not  care 
for  her  cause ;  he  had  told  her  to  leave  it  with 
him,  and  yet,  see  how  he  relinquished  it !  She 
would  not  look  at  the  offending  note  again,  nor 
talk  of  it  while  he  was  by. 

"  I  '11  bid  you  good-day,"  she  said  proudly, 
and  walked  out  of  the  house,  though  not  home- 
ward. Her  face  was  hot  with  anger,  and  to 
escape  her  mother's  eyes,  she  took  the  descend- 
ing road  and  hastened  on,  her  mind  a  turmoil. 
If  she  had  a  thought,  it  was  that  her  little 
schoolhouse  lay  that  way.  There,  on  the  step, 
she  might  sit  down  and  brood. 

Later  in  the  forenoon,  Mrs.  Jeffries  fried 
doughnuts ;  and  while  she  spurred  up  the  fire, 
Martin  stood  by  the  table,  gravely  making 


KING'S   END  109 

rounds  into  rings,  with  the  aid  of  a  pepper-box 
top.  That  act  represented  an  old-time  feud. 
She  believed  in  the  unembellished  cake ;  Martin 
swore  to  the  orthodoxy  of  rings.  He  worked 
for  dear  life,  and  when  she  turned  again,  a  new 
order  reigned  upon  the  board. 

"  My  land  alive !  "  she  muttered  to  some  un- 
seen confidant,  "  I  've  as  good  a  mind  as  ever 
I  had  to  eat,  to  mould  'em  up  together  an'  begin 
all  over." 

Martin  armed  himself  with  the  poker,  and 
mounted  guard.  Mrs.  Jeffries  advanced,  look- 
ing catacornered  lest  he  catch  the  betraying 
twinkle  in  her  eye.  Martin  was  wise  in  his 
generation.  He  had  not  summered  and  wintered 
his  mother  these  twenty  odd  years  for  no- 
thing. 

"I  like  'em  so,"  he  shouted.  "I  like  'em-— 
like  'em  — so !  so !  "  He  danced  up  and  down 
before  her ;  he  knew  she  could  not  hear,  but  he 
knew  also  that  her  deafness  gave  her  the  most 
pleasing  of  ironical  satisfactions.  It  was  her 
weapon,  unique,  invincible.  She  pushed  him 
aside,  and  gathering  a  handful  of  the  doughy 
rings,  laid  them  in  to  fry.  Martin,  with  an  osten- 
tatious courtesy,  put  down  the  poker  and  picked 
up  her  trumpet  from  the  sewing-table  between 
the  windows.  He  applied  one  end  to  her  ear 


no  KING'S   END 

and  remarked  into  the  other,  "  Mother,  you  're 
awful  obstinate ! " 

"  Don't  yell  so,"  said  Mrs.  Jeffries,  delighted 
over  the  onslaught. 

"  If  you  were  n't  so  obstinate,  you  'd  be  a  real 
nice  woman." 

"  Mercy !  I  should  think  I  was  deaf,"  she 
muttered,  turning  the  doughnuts.  "  Obstinate ! 
you  better  talk.  There 's  worse  than  bein'  ob- 
stinate. What  do  you  do  ?  You  hang  'round 
after  a  girl  that  hates  the  sight  of  you  till  you  're 
a  laughin'-stock  "  — 

"  I  ain't.     Everybody  admires  me." 

"An'  then,  without  why  or  wherefore,  you 
dance  off  with  a  little  miserable  fly-by-night "  — 

"  She 's  upstairs,"  Martin  breathed  ominously 
to  the  trumpet,  and  presently  became  aware  that 
the  ear-piece  was  nowhere.  She  had  stepped 
away  and  left  it  pointed  —  a  favorite  trick.  He 
pursued  her ;  she  shook  her  head  free  of  it  and 
went  on :  — 

"Takin'  that  poor  miserable  pint-o'-cider  to 
ride !  What  do  you  s'pose  folks  thinks  ?  What 
do  you  s'pose  Nancy  Eliot  thought  ? " 

"  I  should  n't  think  you  'd  care  what  she 
thought,"  volleyed  Martin,  aiming  to  some  brief 
purpose ;  but  she  gave  no  token  of  hearing. 

"That's  like  a  man.     My  soul,  if  it  ain't! 


KING'S   END  in 

Not  like  your  father.  He 's  the  only  one  that 
ever  stepped  that  was  fit  to  have  gover'ment." 

"  Did  n't  he  ever  like  any  girl  but  you  ? " 
essayed  Martin,  following  her  to  the  cupboard 
and  back  again.  "  Honest,  now  !  When  you 
sat  in  the  seats,  and  he  sung  tenor  ?  " 

Mrs.  Jeffries  rolled  and  cut,  interposing  a 
shoulder  to  aural  advances. 

"  I  s'pose  it  was  the  greatest  mistake  I  ever 
made  to  have  her  here  "  — 

"  She 's  upstairs,"  indicated  Martin,  in  futile 
pantomime. 

"  But  I  knew  there  wa'n't  nobody  else  that  'd 
take  the  trouble,  an'  I  thought  she  'd  settle  up 
the  business  an'  go  back  to  her  fact'ry  work 
But  law  !  not  she  !  A  horse  and  shay  an'  you 
all  slicked  up,  an'  bein'  beaued  over  to  Ryde,  as 
budge  as  you  please ! " 

"  We  went  to  see  about  a  mortgage,"  groaned 
Martin.  He  was  certain  to  get  the  worst  of  it. 
He  always  did,  in  this  game  of  no  thoroughfare. 
But  he  noted  wickedly  that  his  mother,  in  the 
abstraction  of  attack,  was  at  least  cutting  the 
doughnuts  into  rings. 

"  If  I  don't  give  her  a  hint,  Thanksgivin'  time 
will  see  her  under  this  roof.  She  '11  be  here 
when  the  snow  flies.  But  I  warn  ye,  if  you  're 
goin'  to  take  her  to  live  in  that  new  house  "  — 


ii2  KING'S   END 

He  dropped  the  trumpet  and  fled,  defeated. 
Alla's  step  was  on  the  stairs ;  retreat  was  the 
only  road  to  silence.  He  met  her  in  the  entry, 
and  smiled  upon  her.  She  looked  at  him  ;  then 
her  eyes  dropped  Alia  had  changed.  While 
he  was  indifferent,  she  had  courted  him  by  sub- 
tile ways,  not  knowing,  in  the  fierceness  of  dis- 
appointed hope,  how  far  love  led  her.  Now,  of 
a  sudden,  he  had  become  kind.  He  did  not  woo 
her,  yet  he  sought  her  out ;  and  some  natural 
instinct  withdrew  her  from  him  and  covered  her 
with  a  blushing  pride.  Hope  was  robust  in  her ; 
at  the  first  hint  of  his  presence  meant  for  her 
alone,  she  told  herself  that  Nancy's  cause  was 
lost ;  her  own  might  yet  be  won.  The  illusive 
veil  of  a  woman's  right  to  be  wooed  in  ancient 
fashion  flung  over  her  such  charm  that  Martin 
looked  upon  her  amazed.  He  had  never  dreamed 
she  was  so  pretty,  so  almost  sweet. 

"  Going  out  ?  "  he  asked,  seeing  her  hat  and 
the  little  basket  she  carried. 

"  Yes  down  to  Cold  Spring.  There  's  cress 
there.  Your  mother  said  she  liked  it."  Once 
she  would  have  bid  for  his  company,  but  now 
she  dared  not. 

Martin  walked  along  by  her  side.  "  She  won't 
touch  it  if  you  get  it,"  said  he.  "  She  likes  to 
go  down  herself  and  pull  it  up." 


KING'S   END  113 

"  Never  mind.  I  guess  I  '11  give  it  a  try,"  she 
answered  shyly,  and  he  let  down  the  bars  for 
her  into  the  field.  She  stepped  through,  not 
looking  behind  her,  but  hunger  was  keen  at  her 
heart.  Would  he  put  up  the  bars  and  turn  away, 
or  would  he  come  ?  Presently  he  was  at  her 
side ;  and  Nancy,  walking  home  again,  saw  him, 
—  Nancy,  who  had  watched  them  driving  off  to 
Ryde  the  day  before.  A  strange  new  pain  be- 
set her.  Never  had  she  seen  Martin  walking 
away  from  her  with  any  girl ;  though,  as  she  told 
herself,  it  hurt  her  now  only  because  the  girl  was 
one  of  Alla's  kind.  But  even  that  seemed  a 
part  of  the  muddiness  of  human  affairs  ;  and  so 
she  wandered  back  again  into  her  blind  alley 
of  debate. 

"  Got  your  business  'most  done  ? "  asked 
Martin. 

"  Not  quite,"  returned  Alia.  "  It  takes  a  good 
while."  She  saw  no  end  to  the  vistaed  delight 
of  days  under  the  same  roof  with  him.  Mrs. 
Jeffries  had  spoken  the  truth.  It  would  be  till 
"snow  flies." 

"  You'd  just  as  soon  I  'd  ask  about  it  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  vowed,  with  fervency,  "  I  guess 
I  would." 

"  So  Nancy  did  n't  get  all  paid  ? " 

Alia  glanced  up  at  him  sharply ;  but  he  was 


114  KING'S   END 

occupied  with  a  sweet-apple  twig,  cut  as  they 
went  along.  It  was  a  crotched  stick,  and  he  held 
it  straight  before  him  in  outstretched  hands. 

"Nancy's  queer,"  she  said  evasively.  "I 
can't  make  anything  out  of  her." 

"  Oh,  well !  she 's  worked  pretty  hard  to  pay 
up  that  debt.  Sort  of  takes  it  out  of  her  to  get 
a  set-back."  The  apple  bough  was  obstinate. 
It  would  not  turn.  "  Did  you  know  you  could 
find  a  spring  with  this,  same  as  you  can  with 
witch-hazel  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Folks  say  so,"  said  Alia,  suave  with  admi- 
ration of  anything  he  knew.  "  Seems  terrible 
queer  to  me." 

"  It  '11  turn  in  your  hands,  and  point  straight 
down  to  the  ground.  Sometimes,  if  you  hold 
it  tight,  it'll  twist  the  bark  to  get  there. 
'T  won't  do  it  to-day.  Bewitched,  I  guess."  He 
tossed  it  into  the  grass.  "  What  was  that  about 
Nancy  Eliot  ?  Oh,  well !  I  would  n't  mention  it 
if  I  were  you.  It  sets  folks  to  talking,  and  they 
take  sides,  and  then  where  are  you  ? " 

Alia  was  in  no  danger  of  telling.  Already 
she  had  tired  of  Nancy's  troubles ;  fortune  was 
turning  her  way,  and  she  thought  of  nothing 
else.  Once,  yearning  for  love  denied,  she  had 
told  herself  that  if  Nancy  had  to  go  to  work  and 
climb  her  hill  of  difficulty  all  over  again,  the 


KING'S   END  115 

new  house  might  stand  untenanted,  recording 
barren  years.  Now  the  wind  had  changed,  and 
she  wished  the  girl  no  harm,  save  what  might 
work  more  miracles.  They  went  on  to  the 
spring,  and  she  filled  her  basket  with  cress,  and 
made  a  hollow  of  her  hands  for  him  to  drink. 
But  he  refused,  though  laughingly.  He  was 
afraid  of  polliwogs,  he  said  ;  had  been  ever  since 
that  time  Eph  Cummings  thought  he  swallowed 
one  and  was  sick  a  year.  Alia  drank  prettily, 
and  tried  not  to  picture  the  touch  of  his  lips  upon 
her  hand.  He  looked  at  her  bending  over  the 
spring.  How  pretty  she  was !  Why  had  he 
never  noticed  it  before  ?  She  seemed  soft  and 
kindly  too.  Perhaps  she  was  less  of  a  flirt  than 
he  used  to  think ;  for  Martin,  in  knowing  her 
lightness,  had  never  guessed  that  she  was  for 
him  more  than  for  another. 

Cold  Spring  lay  in  the  lower  pasture.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  go  home  right  off,  do  you  ?  "  he 
asked.  "  Let 's  climb  to  Old  Maids'  Lot." 

She  turned  with  him,  the  ready  color  suffus- 
ing her  cheeks.  The  way  led  through  a  defined 
aisle  with  a  cathedral  arch  above ;  it  was  an  old 
cart-path,  used  so  rarely  now  that  the  grass  had 
a  chance  for  all  its  rich  concealment.  This 
was  the  bourgeoning  time  of  the  year.  Life 
was  at  its  full.  Two  little  green-gray  birds 


Ii6  KING'S   END 

swept  back  and  forth,  each  with  a  shred  in  its 
beak,  and  neither  daring  the  homeward  way  lest 
these  human  things  should  follow. 

"Wait,"  said  Martin  softly  ;  "  they  're  build- 
ing. It's  on  that  low  branch.  See!"  He 
was  thinking  of  the  nest  —  perhaps  of  his  new 
house,  too  —  but  Alia  thought  only  of  him. 
Her  heart  beat  chokingly  and  hurt  her ;  a  mist 
obscured  her  eyes. 

"  Cunning  little  things  !  "  she  said ;  but  she 
had  not  seen  them. 

"  They  think  they  're  terrible  smart.  Look ! 
that  one 's  darting  in.  See  him  lay  the  straw 
with  his  bill.  Little  gumps  !  "  But  he  said  it 
tenderly.  The  house-maker  instinct  was  strong 
in  him.  He  told  himself,  with  an  oath  big 
enough  to  astound  both  girls  who  thought  they 
knew  him,  that  Thanksgiving  time  should  see 
him  at  his  own  hearth,  his  mate  by  his  side. 
Thinking  that,  he  put  out  a  hand  to  Alia  in 
unconscious  appeal,  the  prayer  of  man  to  wo- 
man ;  she  saw  it  too  late,  though  not  too  late 
for  sickening  memory. 

They  climbed  the  gentle  slope  into  the  open, 
the  clarified  green  of  June  filtering  over  them, 
a  witchery  hard  to  be  withstood.  The  color 
magic  sprang  vividly,  making  a  medium  thicker 
than  the  air,  and  once  Martin  put  up  his  hand 


KING'S   END  117 

to  brush  it  away.  The  June  world  got  into  his 
blood.  He  thought  of  his  delight,  withholding 
herself  from  him,  and  wondered  at  her  dullness  ; 
for  he  never  doubted  that  in  her  soul  Nancy 
loved  him.  But  all  he  said  was,  "  Pretty  ?"  And 
Alia  gave  a  little  responsive  sound. 

They  touched  the  upper  slope,  and  Martin 
breathed  again.  Now  the  spell  was  not  too 
strong  for  him.  He  took  off  his  hat,  and  passed 
a  hand  over  his  forehead.  "  It 's  hot,"  he  said. 
"  Good  to  strike  a  breeze." 

There  were  the  cellars  of  three  ruined  houses, 
side  by  side.  The  Cummings  sisters  had  lived 
here,  each  in  her  own  domain,  civil  but  unfriend- 
ing  to  one  another  and  the  world.  Alia  seated' 
herself  on  a  sunken  doorstone,  and  Martin,  at  a 
distance,  buried  his  face  in  the  cool  aloofness 
of  the  grass. 

"See  the  cinnamon  roses!"  she  called, — 
something  thrilled  her  voice,  though  it  seemed 
to  be  for  the  forsaken  garden,  —  "  and  bouncing- 
bet.  Do  you  suppose  their  beds  run  way  out 
here?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Martin  dreamily,  "and 
they  slipped  out  and  tended  'em  and  never 
spoke." 

"  How  'd  you  know  ?    It  was  before  our  day." 

"  Anybody  'd  know.     They  came  up  here  to 


n8  KING'S   END 

live  because  they  all  three  fell  in  love  with  the 
same  man,  and  he  made  up  to  each  of  'em  on 
the  sly.  So  they  hated  him  —  and  other  folks 
—  but  they  hated  one  another  more." 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  anybody  'd  know !  You  can't  blame  the 
one  you  love,  even  if  she  plays  you  false.  You 
have  to  blame  somebody  else." 

"  The  one  you  love  !  "  It  sounded  very  sweet 
to  her.  The  old  life  when  she  went  back  and 
forth  to  her  work  in  the  city,  spent  her  money 
on  cheap  finery,  and  held  a  foolish  commerce  of 
looks  and  smiles,  seemed  to  her  vague  and  un- 
lovely. A  little  more,  and  it  would  be  quite  for- 
gotten. Once  she  had  left  her  father  in  lone- 
liness to  have  what  she  called  life  in  the  town,  — 
but  then  Martin  was  not  so  straight  and  tall. 
The  woody  aisles  in  King's  End  looked  to  her 
now  like  Paradise.  Yet  old  traditions  were  loud 
in  her  where  nature  had  not  muted  them,  and 
she  sought  for  talk  to  hold  him.  "There's 
ladies'-delights,"  she  said,  "  sprinkled  all 
through  the  grass.  Some  folks  call  it  heart's- 


ease." 


Martin  came  upright,  his  brow  knitted.  What 
did  the  soft  speech  recall  ?  It  seemed  to  set  a 
link  into  a  half -welded  chain.  He  dared  not 
notice  the  flower,  lest  it  suggest  something  to 


KING'S   END  119 

her  also.  But  he  thought  he  knew.  Rising,  he 
shook  himself  free  of  warmer  fancies,  like  a  dog 
shedding  water.  "  Come,"  said  he,  "  let 's  go 
home." 

Alia  rose,  too,  grieved  at  the  dispelling  of  her 
dream.  He  strode  along,  thinking,  a  frown 
upon  his  brow.  She,  trotting  after,  like  a  wife 
used  to  that  unregarded  following,  studied  upon 
the  change  in  him,  and  wondered  what  she 
could  have  done.  At  the  door,  she  looked  up 
at  him,  her  brown  eyes  overflowing. 

"  You  ain't  mad  ? "  she  asked  imploringly. 
She  was  very  pretty,  and  Martin  bent  to  reas- 
sure her.  He  was  still  thinking,  yet  the  natural 
man  in  him  bade  her  be  comforted. 

"  Mad !  No !  "  said  he  absently.  But  though 
he  lifted  his  head  without  kissing  her,  two  peo- 
ple could  have  sworn  he  meant  to  do  it.  One 
was  Alia,  and  the  other  Mrs.  Jeffries,  looking 
on  scornfully  from  the  next  room.  So  his 
mother  mislaid  her  trumpet,  and  could  not  hear 
a  word  from  Alia,  all  that  day  and  the  next. 

But  Martin,  ignorant  of  these  feminine  coils, 
ran  upstairs  to  his  own  room  and  his  little  book- 
case, where  "  Pilgrim's  Progress  "  stood  in  the 
old  spot.  He  took  it  down,  glancing  first  at 
the  top  to  compare  its  layer  of  dust  with  neigh- 
boring edges ;  for  this  corner  his  mother  had 


120  KING'S   END 

forborne  to  touch,  ever  since  he  had  laid  a  defil- 
ing pipe  upon  the  shelf.  But  now  all  the  books 
were  clean,  and  he  swore  softly.  Either  his 
mother  had  repented,  or  Alia  had  taken  pity  on 
his  untidy  state.  He  opened  the  book,  and 
whirled  the  leaves.  Where  was  the  heart' s-ease 
left  there  on  the  day  when  Nancy  gave  him  the 
book  in  the  little  bare  schoolroom  ?  It  was 
gone.  Yet  it  had  lain  there  undisturbed  for 
many  years.  What  a  fool  he  had  been  not  to 
remember  !  He  remembered  perfectly  now  ; 
and  he  ran  whistling  down  the  stairs  and  caught 
his  mother  tumultuously  about  the  waist. 

"There!  that'll  do,"  she  remarked  dryly. 
"  Enough 's  as  good  as  a  feast.  An'  next  time 
you  want  to  carry  on,  you  can  take  somebody 
else's  front  entry.  This  house  wa'n't  ever 
made  for  doin's  such  as  that.  I  don't  know 
what  your  father  'd  say." 

Her  little  body  trembled ;  her  eyes  held 
needles  for  him.  Martin  looked  at  her  in  won- 
der. It  dawned  upon  his  unenlightened  mind 
that  now  she  was  not  "  play  mad  "  as  of  old, 
but  in  an  honest  fury.  What  for  ?  He  threw 
back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"Jealous!  My  King !"  cried  he.  "Jealous 
for  Nancy!  Hurrah  for  Jackson!"  He  im- 
printed a  large  and  cordial  kiss  on  her  fiery 


KING'S   END  121 

cheek,  and  then  another.  "  Mother,  you  're  an 
old  darling !  "  he  announced  in  a  bellow.  "  A 
dar-ling !  Hear  ?  Was  it  because  I  went  to 
walk?  God  sakes  " —  Then  it  occurred  to 
him  that  he  could  not  explain  without  enlighten- 
ing the  room  overhead.  And,  still  laughing,  he 
let  her  go.  He  went  off  to  find  Nancy,  and  his 
mother,  striving  to  accomplish  that  moral  effect 
before  he  left  the  room,  rushed  to  the  roller- 
towel  and  rubbed  her  cheek. 

But  Nancy  could  not  see  him.  She  was  ly- 
ing down,  her  mother  said,  with  a  bad  headache. 
It  came  on  sudden. 

Through  this  June  weather  Luke  was  work- 
ing in  his  smithy,  and  patronage  grew  fast. 
Even  the  neighboring  towns,  hearing  how  he 
carried  the  stolen  baby  to  a  friendly  shade  and 
watched  her  between  blows,  remembered  that 
he  was  an  excellent  smith,  capable  of  turning 
his  hand  to  anything.  At  intervals,  he  warmed 
milk  for  her  over  the  coals,  and  glad  were  they 
who  saw  the  administering  thereof.  One  day 
Obed  Horner  came  up  with  his  old  white  horse, 
arid  while  Luke  pared  hoofs,  with  one  eye  on 
the  child,  the  grandfather  stepped  deprecatingly 
to  her  little  nest,  and  looked  down  upon  her. 
She  soliloquized  remotely,  and  tears  came  into 
his  old  eyes.  He  had  never  relinquished  the 


122  KING'S   END 

idea  that  the  baby  knew  him ;  now  he  thought 
bitterly  she  was  "all  Larrups."  He  stretched 
down  his  arms  toward  her,  but  Luke  dropped 
his  iron  and  set  his  gun  within  a  nearer  reach. 
Then  he  blew  up  the  fire  again. 

"  Lord  sakes,  Luke  Evans,"  trembled  the  old 
man,  "  you  would  n't  shoot  an'  run  the  resk  o' 
hittin'  that  innocent  child  ? " 

"  Shoot  ? "  retorted  Luke  grimly.  "  Who  said 
anything  about  shootin'  ?  " 

"I  tell  ye,"  said  Obed  in  sudden  heat,  "you 
could  be  took  up  for  havin'  firearms  'round 
promisc'us  so.  You  'ain't  no  more  right  to  go 
armed  "  — 

"My  old  fowlin'-piece  is  there  for  foxes," 
announced  Luke,  hammering.  "  If  one  comes 
along  "  —  He  said  no  more.  But  Obed  went 
home  and  told  his  wife  that  all  her  plans  of 
rescue  were  naught  concerning  a  man  who 
would  as  soon  shoot  the  child  as  eat  —  sooner. 

On  this  day  Luke  had  no  patrons  ;  so  he  left 
his  work  at  three,  shouldered  his  gun,  and  went 
homeward,  the  child  on  his  arm.  He  did  not 
always  use  the  little  wagon  now  ;  he  had  learned 
the  habit  of  holding  her,  and  her  soft  weight 
was  pleasant  to  him.  Luke  knew,  and  owned 
to  himself  with  a  grim  smile,  the  moment  of 
his  beginning  to  love  her;  it  was  when  she 


KING'S   END  123 

took  to  abusing  him,  digging  her  hands  into 
his  hair,  kicking  him  with  rampant  legs,  and 
then  laughing  wantonly  in  his  face.  He  hugged 
her  close  going  up  the  hill,  and  put  his  cheek 
down  softly,  so  that  the  whiskers  should  not 
hurt ;  a  great  trembling  went  over  him  when  he 
thought  her  hair  might  yet  be  dark.  She  did 
not  look  like  poor  Milly.  Perhaps  her  coloring 
would  be  his  —  and  Nancy's. 

That  afternoon  a  new  resolution  grew  within 
him,  and  in  the  early  twilight  he  shaved  and 
made  his  hair  as  sleek  as  deference  demanded. 
Then,  with  the  baby  in  its  little  cart,  he  went 
down  the  hill  to  call  on  Nancy.  Why  should 
he  ignore  the  ways  of  other  men  ?  Why  not 
choose  his  girl,  and  go  honestly  to  seek  her  ? 
Aunt  Lindy .  answered  his  knock,  but,  rinding 
him,  she  fled  away  and  banged  the  door  behind 
her. 

"My  soul,  Susan,  on'y  you  see  what's  out 
there  in  the  path  ! "  she  panted,  appearing  in 
the  kitchen,  where  her  sister  was  wiping  the 
last  dish. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  asked  Susan 
hardily.  "  Mercy  !  I  should  think  the  British 
had  landed  !  "  But  she  went  to  the  door,  and 
reached  it  with  Nancy,  who,  pale  and  leaden- 
footed,  came  downstairs  for  a  little  walk  in  the 
dusk. 


124  KING'S   END 

"  Well,  if  ever  I  see  !  "  cried  Susan,  her  eyes 
on  the  baby.  "  If  this  don't  beat  all !  On  your 
way  down  along  to  gran' ma's  ? " 

Luke  frowned.  His  amiable  besetment  dried 
like  a  husk.  Yet  his  eyes  sought  Nancy,  un- 
abashed. "  I  thought  I  'd  come  in  a  minute," 
he  said  to  her  imploringly. 

"  Sit  down  here  on  the  porch,  won't  you  ? " 

She  seated  herself  as  she  spoke,  leaving  room 
for  him  at  the  other  side.  Susan  turned  about 
and  went  in,  and  Nancy  could  hear  her  remark 
to  Aunt  Lindy  that  some  folks  had  brass  enough 
to  line  a  kettle.  Later,  a  gentle  and  rhythmical 
creak  sounded  near  the  entry  door,  and  she 
knew  Aunt  Lindy  had  drawn  her  chair  to  a 
point  of  vantage. 

"  I  thought  I  'd  come  down  an'  set  a  spell," 
said  Luke  thickly. 

"  How 's  baby  ? "  asked  Nancy,  regarding  only 
the  little  contented  thing,  who  seemed  so  gra- 
cious among  untoward  ways. 

"Fust-rate.  When  should  you  give  her 
suthin'  solid  ?  —  bread  or  suthin'  ? " 

Nancy  frowned.  "  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it,"  she  said,  with  decision;  "you  can 
ask  Big  Joan."  She  made  a  little  involuntary 
movement,  for  Martin  had  turned  in  at  the  gate, 
«,nd  she  had  vowed  not  to  see  him.  But  now 


KING'S   END  125 

he  was  near,  and  pride  counseled  her  to  stay. 
He  came  buoyantly  up  to  them,  hat  in  hand, 
the  last  flush  of  daylight  lying  upon  his  hair. 
His  brows  went  up  a  trifle,  but  he  spoke 
jocundly.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  good 
news. 

"  'Evening,  Nancy.  H'are  ye,  Luke?  Is 
that  the  young  one  ?  Hullo !  " 

The  baby  was  not  the  only  one  who  failed  to 
answer.  Luke  gave  a  little  grunt,  and  then 
looked  at  Nancy.  For  the  first  time  since  the 
baby's  actual  regnancy  he  wished  it  away.  It 
gave  Martin  an  advantage.  He  felt  queerly 
burdened. 

"  Did  you  want  to  see  mother  ? "  asked  Nancy 
stiffly. 

"  Oh  no,"  returned  Martin,  with  cheerfulness, 
"  I  came  to  see  you." 

"She's  in  the  house." 

"All  right.     It 's  nice  out  here." 

But  Susan  did  not  remain  in  the  house.  She 
appeared  suddenly  in  the  entry,  and,  as  Nancy 
knew,  from  a  softer  swish  of  skirts,  Aunt  Lindy 
was  not  far  behind.  Susan  had  borne  much, 
but  it  was  gall  beyond  her  drinking  to  see  Nancy 
sitting  out  there  in  the  face  of  the  world  in  such 
droll  company. 

"  Luke  Evans,"  quoth  she,  "  I  should  think 


126  KING'S   END 

you  was  bewitched  to  keep  that  baby  out  in  the 
night  air.  If  you  've  got  anything  to  say,  say  it 
an'  done  with  it ;  but  don't  for  heaven's  sake 
let  her  lay  there  breathin'  in  all  this  damp." 

Luke  rose  like  a  shot.  "  I  guess  I  '11  be  goin'," 
he  said  to  Nancy. 

There  was  defiance  in  his  air,  though  not  for 
her.  He  had  been  driven  away,  turned  from 
another  door  only  because  he  had  tried  to  be 
like  other  folks.  Her  heart  rose  in  champion- 
ship. She  spoke  sweetly,  so  sweetly  that  Mar- 
tin looked  at  her  in  wonder  :  — 

"  I  guess  it  is  damp  for  her ;  but  I  '11  come 
up  to-morrow,  and  we  '11  talk  it  all  over  then." 

Her  mother  gasped ;  so  did  Luke,  at  his  good 
fortune.  What  was  it  they  would  talk  over  ? 
— their  coming  days  ?  Not  so  small  a  thing  as 
the  baby's  diet.  He  gave  her  a  rapturous  look 
and  went  away,  drawing  his  little  cart. 

"Well,  if  ever!"  remarked  Susan,  and  also 
disappeared.  Her  mind  was  momentarily  at 
rest.  Come  good  or  ill  to  Nancy,  she  felt  that 
Martin  alone  could  deal  with  her.  Nancy,  con- 
scious of  having  stumbled  into  a  deeper  slough, 
was  no  more  serene  for  knowing  it. 

"It's  getting  cool,"  she  said,  with  a  height- 
ened color.  "  I  guess  I  '11  go  in." 

" Not  yet,"  returned  Martin  sharply.  "  Nancy, 
you  don't  want  to  get  yourself  talked  about." 


KING'S  END  127 

Nancy  lifted  her  head,  gander-like,  as  Martin 
had  once  told  her.  She  thought  of  it  now. 
"  Talked  about !  "  she  repeated.  "  How  ?  " 

Martin  astonished  himself.  When  had  he 
lost  his  temper  before  ?  But  when  had  he  seen 
such  cause  ?  "  In  the  worst  way,"  he  said  hotly. 
"  I  know  you  go  up  there  and  look  after  that 
baby.  That 's  not  so  bad  :  only  foolish.  But 
it's  got  'round  he's  going  with  you." 

Anger  rose  in  her.  She  trembled.  "  Why 
not  ?  "  she  asked  satirically.  "  Why  not  ?  Why 
should  n't  a  man  go  with  a  girl  ?  Seems  to  me 
I  Ve  seen  you  with  one  quite  a  lot  lately."  She 
could  have  bitten  her  recreant  tongue  for  the 
admission.  It  gave  him  a  key  to  her  anger  ;  he 
would  use  it.  Martin  threw  back  his  head  and 
laughed. 

"  So  I  did,"  said  he.  "  What 's  sauce  for  the 
goose  —  See  here,  Nancy,  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  something."  These  love  matters  could  wait 
for  brighter  times.  He  moved  nearer  and  spoke 
in  an  undertone,  defying  Aunt  Lindy.  "  You 
remember  that  day  you  gave  me  '  Pilgrim's  Pro- 
gress'?" 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

"  Did  n't  you  give  me  a  flower,  and  did  n't  I 
put  it  somewheres  and  promise  it  should  stay  ?  " 

Poor  Nancy !     She  was  learning  that  the 


128  KING'S   END 

masculine  heart  may  be  pierced  to  the  centre 
with  the  significance  of  mementos,  and  yet 
take  no  account  of  them  until  the  day  of  reck- 
oning. 

"That 's  neither  here  nor  there,"  she  said  in 
one  of  her  mother's  phrasings.  Nancy  always 
reproached  herself  for  not  remaining  so  elegant 
as  she  could  wish  under  strong  emotion.  In 
sorrow  or  excitement  she  went  back  to  homely 
speech,  like  a  child  fleeing  to  an  apron. 

'-'  What  was  the  flower  ?  "  persisted  Martin. 
"  What  did  I  do  with  it  ?" 

He  wanted  her  testimony  with  no  suggestive 
hint.  Nancy  spoke  from  a  sense  of  outrage. 
He  was  going  with  another  girl.  She  did  not 
care  for  that ;  but  he  should  never  come  here 
and  resurrect  the  beginnings  of  dead  tender- 
ness. 

"  If  you  said  you  'd  put  it  somewhere,  I  sup- 
pose you  did.  If  you  said  it  should  stay  there, 
I  suppose  it  has.  Why  don't  you  look  ? " 

Martin's  hand  was  on  the;  arm  of  her  chair. 
He  shook  it  a  little,  and  she  sat  the  straighten 
"  You  need  n't  build  up  pick'  fences  'round 
you,"  he  said  roughly.  "  It  ain't  necessary  to- 
night. I  ain't  making  love.  I  'm  talking  busi- 
ness. What  was  that  flower  ? " 

"Depends  on  the  season,"  said  Nancy,  with  a 


KING'S   END  129 

fictitious  lightness.  "  Let 's  see,  when  was  it  ? 
What  time  of  the  year  ?  " 

"Why,  you  know,"  said  Martin,  deceived  and 
injured,  "  my  birthday ! " 

"And  when  was  that?" 

He  got  up  and  strode  down  the  path,  his  hands 
in  his  pockets.  Then  he  turned  about  and  came 
back.  He  looked  at  her,  and  their  eyes  were 
on  a  level.  "Nancy,"  said  he  deliberately, 
"  you  're  enough  to  try  the  patience  of  a  saint. 
I  wonder  —  yes,  I  do  wonder  that  I  can  be  so 
possessed  about  you." 

So  he  was  still  possessed !  A  little  flicker 
stirred  in  her  heart,  but  she  put  it  out,  with  the 
conclusion  that  if  he  did  not  care  for  the  other 
girl,  it  was  all  the  worse.  He  had  demeaned 
himself  by  flirting. 

"Be  good,"  he  said  coaxingly,  "and  tell  me. 
Was  it  a  wild  flower  ? " 

"  I  've  got  to  go  in,"  she  told  him,  rising. 
"  It 's  getting  damp ;  mother  said  so."  She  had 
never  seemed  so  inaccessible,  her  intelligence 
now  as  well  as  her  heart. 

"Nancy,"  cried  Martin,  "you  '11  drive  me  to 
drink!  Oh,  stop,  stop!  I  don't  mean  that. 
It 's  only  a  form  of  speech.  Sometimes  it  don't 
seem  as  if  you  knew  once.  But  see  here.  I 
want  to  know  if  I  put  the  flower  into  the  '  Pil- 


130  KING'S   END 

grim's  Progress.'  I  think  she  's  been  into  my 
room  "  — 

"She?" 

"Alia." 

"  Oh !  "  breathed  Nancy,  loftily  indifferent. 

But  Martin  knew  too  little  of  the  ways  of 
women  folk  to  stop.  "  She  's  looked  over  my 
books,"  he  said,  absorbed  in  theory.  "  She  bor- 
rowed some.  Mother  told  me  so,  to  make 
trouble.  And  suppose  I  did  press  the  flower 
in  the  book,  suppose  I  did  pick  up  the  first 
piece  of  paper  handy,  to  press  it  in  "  — 

Nancy  could  not  see  the  road  he  stumbled  on. 
She  only  knew  that  he  and  she  and  Alia  were 
mixed  in  some  sentimental  complication,  and 
she  would  none  of  it.  "  That  will  do,  Martin 
Jeffries,"  she  announced  firmly,  with  what  he 
called  her  air  of  District  Number  Four.  "  I  'm 
going  in.  If  you  and  Alia  Mixon  have  got  into 
some  kind  of  a  squabble,  it 's  nothing  to  me. 
You  can  settle  it  between  you." 

She  walked  into  the  house,  and  Martin,  left 
alone  in  the  sweet  summer  night,  did  for  a 
moment  wonder  what  he  should  do  with  this 
impossible  creature  when  he  got  her  caged 
But  that  he  knew  he  could  risk. 


THE  season  was  getting  on.  Bobolinks  sang 
for  dear  life,  and  the  musical  scythe  cut  the  air 
and  then  the  grass,  through  acres  of  redtop  and 
clover.  The  women,  mixing  sweetened  water 
to  carry  afield,  talked  of  many  things  ;  and  the 
men,  in  their  nooning,  talked  too.  Martin  was 
going  with  Alia  Mixon,  so  they  said ;  he  had 
taken  her  to  ride  twice  in  a  fortnight.  Chance 
for  some  other  feller  up  to  Eliot's  now.  Nancy  'd 
get  a  crooked  stick,  though,  if  she  took  up  with 
Luke  Larrups.  But  it  looked  so.  The  Elder 
must  be  showing  his  years,  for  he  had  no  meet- 
ings off  on  the  mountain.  He  only  went  up  there 
to  pray,  alone.  He  dropped  in  to  the  houses 
'round  and  beseeched  folks  to  have  a  good  time. 
Not  a  word  about  hell  fire  !  And  last  Sunday, 
when  Eph  was  getting  in  his  hay  before  the 
shower,  and  the  Elder  hollered,  "  Six  days  shalt 
thou  labor,"  and  Eph  hollered  back,  "  That 's 
right.  We  ain't  had  but  five  this  week ;  Wednes- 
day was  rainy ! "  the  Elder  only  kind  o'  twin- 
kled and  went  by.  Well!  well!  he'd  hiT  his 
own  for  a  good  many  years  now. 


132  KING'S   END 

But  the  Elder  was  far  from  sinking  into  the 
acquiescence  of  age.  He  was  taking  his  forty 
days  of  prayer  and  reflection  before  going  out 
into  a  larger  world  to  carry  tidings  he  did  not 
as  yet  know  how  to  cry  aloud.  The  inspira- 
tions of  other  men,  save  as  he  found  them  in 
the  Bible,  were  sealed  to  him.  These  new 
thoughts  coursing  through  his  brain  —  had 
they  ever  bloomed  on  earth  before  ?  He  thought 
not.  He  saw  the  vision,  not  of  a  world  gone 
wrong,  but  of  a  world  eternally  right  from  the 
beginning.  His  Christ  had  once  been  the 
medicine  for  a  distorted  birth.  Now  He  was 
the  white  image  of  divinity  come  to  show  the 
way.  Yet  how  should  he  tell  the  message,  and 
no  one  suffer  harm  ? 

He  was  sitting  on  the  porch  reflecting,  his 
clasped  hands  on  a  knotted  stick  and  his  chin 
upon  his  hands.  Miss  Julia  sat  silent  within 
the  room  behind,  shelling  peas.  Nancy  came 
droopingly  up  the  walk.  She  had  been  for  one 
of  her  visits  to  Alia  Mixon,  and  with  the  same 
dreary  result.  Yet  Alia  was  kinder  than  be- 
fore, as  one  who  has  good  fortune  on  her  side ; 
and  when  Nancy  besought  her  to  say  whether 
there  might  not  be  another  note,  she  only  de- 
nied having  seen  any  other,  but  added  encour- 
agingly :  — 


KING'S   END  133 

"  Maybe  we  '11  come  across  it  some  day." 

Nancy  came  up  to  the  old  man  with  a  dull 
step,  and  sat  down  at  his  feet.  She  fanned  her- 
self with  her  hat,  and  thought,  from  some  faint 
wonder,  how  summer  days  had  changed.  Her 
eyes  mirrored  a  shining  world,  all  beauty ;  but 
her  heart  sat  coldly  in  the  midst.  Looking  at 
the  Elder  in  the  same  unloving  scrutiny,  she 
wondered  why  he  should  have  lost  his  spiritual 
power.  He  was  no  prophet  now,  —  only  a  gen- 
tle, dear  old  man  ;  she  longed  for  the  prophet 
back  again. 

"  Elder  Kent ! "  she  called.  He  did  not  an- 
swer. "  Elder  Kent !  "  Then  he  awoke  from 
his  dream  of  glorified  worlds.  "  You  know  I 
said  I  'd  go  with  you  ?  " 

He  nodded,  looking  at  her  kindly. 

"  Should  you  think  —  if  mother  needed  me  — 
it  would  make  any  difference  ?"  She  was  stum- 
bling among  platitudes  because  the  truth  could 
not  be  told.  What  would  it  mean  to  him  ? 

"  You  shall  leave  father  and  mother/'  he  par- 
aphrased raptly.  But  he  was  not  thinking  of 
her. 

"  I  said  I  'd  go,"  repeated  Nancy,  with  heart- 
break in  her  voice ;  and  he  smiled  upon  her. 

"  Yes  ;  you  made  a  vow,  a  vow  unto  the  Lord. 
You  shall  keep  it,  child.  I  will  help  you." 


134  KING'S   END 

He  thought  she  wanted  to  be  held  in  the 
way ;  and,  meeting  the  sudden  radiance  of  his 
smile,  she  also  thought  it,  for  the  moment. 
Again  she  felt  the  constraining  of  his  spiritual 
power,  but  without  an  answering  exaltation. 
Now  she  saw  only  the  dreariness  of  well-do- 
ing. 

"When  are  you  going?"  she  asked  him  hope- 
lessly. 

"  In  about  a  week.  We  might  start  on  a 
Friday  and  be  in  Pillcott  again  in  time  for  Sun- 
day meeting.  Then  the  factory  folks  are  out. 
Be  of  good  cheer,"  he  heartened  her.  "  You 
are  not  bargaining  with  God  :  yet  it  shall  be 
blessed  to  you.  Look  at  my  sister.  She  has 
followed  the  cross  through  sun  and  snow,  and 
her  age  is  full  of  peace."  Nancy,  in  spite  of 
herself,  glanced  back  at  the  old  woman  busy  at 
her  work.  Julia  had  heard  him,  and  she  was 
laughing  noiselessly,  a  laugh  that  hurts  the  be- 
holder, for  it  has  no  mirth.  "I  will  help  you," 
he  repeated.  "  You  shall  not  turn  back." 

Then  Nancy  knew  she  was  to  go,  and  the 
fiat  was  just.  She  had  vowed  herself  unto  the 
Lord.  If  the  sacrifice  waxed  heavy,  so  much 
the  sweeter  to  make  it  for  Him  who  gave  up  all 
for  her.  Yet  in  her  olden  dreams  of  crosses,  she 
had  never  seen  her  mother  suffering  a  sharper 


KING'S   END  135 

pang  than  that  of  loneliness.  Now  she  must 
tell  her  about  the  unfulfilled  desire  of  both  their 
hearts,  and  leave  her  to  a  barren  life  devoid  of 
hope. 

"Brother!"  called  Miss  Julia  from  the  sit- 
ting-room. Her  voice  rang  sharply,  and  the 
Elder  turned.  "Brother,  come  in  here,"  she 
commanded,  and  he  went  in  haste.  Her  man- 
ner toward  him  was  uniformly  marked  by  the 
deference  which  befits  a  handmaid  to  the 
Lord's  anointed ;  now  he  felt  the  change. 

"Why,  Julia,"  he  asked,  bending  over  her 
chair,  "you  sick?" 

"No,"  she  said  steadily,  "I'm  well  and  in 
my  right  mind.  I  wish  as  much  could  be  said 
of  all.  Brother,  I  don't  want  you  should  set  a 
day  to  go." 

"Why  not  ?  "  asked  the  Elder  wonderingly. 
He  could  not  remember  a  time  when  she  had 
questioned  him.  Her  subserviency  had  not 
spoiled  him  ;  his  nature  was  too  sweet.  But  he 
was  accustomed  to  think  of  her  as  the  minister- 
ing and  subordinate  spirit,  as  a  woman  should 
be. 

"I  can't  leave  King's  End."  Julia  did  not 
look  at  him.  Her  voice  sounded  hard,  her 
fingers  moved  like  magic.  "I  don't  know  when 
I  can  leave." 


136  KING'S   END 

"  We  've  been  here  some  time." 

"  I  pay  as  we  go.  I  've  worked  like  a  silk- 
worm. They  beg  and  pray  me  not  to  work  so 
hard.  We  're  going  to  begin  quilting  to-day.  I 
can  settle  for  our  board.  Brother,  I  've  got  to 
stay."  If  he  would  yield  without  further  be- 
seeching, so  much  the  better.  But  glancing  up 
at  him,  she  caught  the  abstraction  of  his  gaze 
bent  upon  far-off  issues.  They  were  her  ene- 
mies. She  had  a  bitter  sense  that  when  religion 
comes  into  the  field,  human  rights  retire  to  the 
wall.  He  must  be  told.  She  held  the  pan 
tightly  with  both  hands,  and  leaned  back  in  her 
chair.  Her  gaze  compelled  an  answering  one. 
"Brother  John,"  said  she,  "Judge  Hill  — Stu- 
art Hill  — is  on  his  deathbed." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  the  Elder  unmoved.  "  I 
went  over  to  see  him,  but  they  would  n't  let  me 
in." 

"  He 's  on  his  deathbed,"  repeated  Julia,  as 
if  she  knocked  at  his  dull  brain.  "  And  I  shan't 
leave  town  until  he 's  gone."  He  looked  at  her 
in  a  kindly  questioning.  A  hopeless  anger  stirred 
her.  In  her  eyes,  this  old  woe  loomed  colossal ; 
yet  it  was  invisible  to  him,  for  whom  her  blood 
was  paid.  "Fifty  odd  year  ago,"  she  said 
roughly,  "I  wanted  to  marry  him.  I  should  if 
—  if  I  could." 


KING'S   END  137 

It  is  not  easy  to  show  the  heart  to  our  own 
kin.  Because  her  mind  dwelt  always  on  this 
grief,  she  was  keen  to  every  phase  of  it.  The 
picturesque  aspect  of  it  flashed  before  her  at 
every  point ;  and  now  she  saw  herself  making 
that  confidence  blushingly,  as  she  might  have 
done  it  those  fifty  odd  years  ago.  The  sharp 
reality  of  the  contrast  gave  her  a  bitter  amuse- 
ment. The  Elder,  recalled  to  the  life  of  this 
world,  looked  at  her  startled.  Marrying  was 
not  for  him.  Never,  in  his  first  madness,  had 
he  guessed  it  was  for  her;  and  after  that,  she 
had  been  living  her  spiritually  cloistered  life. 
He  laid  his  hand  on  one  of  hers,  both  gnarled 
and  yellow. 

"  Poor  Julia,"  he  said  tenderly.  "  I  wish  it 
had  been  different.  I  wish  he  could  have  cared." 

She  looked  him  in  the  face,  and  her  seasoned 
spirit  stood  unflinching.  So  starved  had  she 
been,  so  silent  in  her  chosen  grave,  that  even 
this  poor  irony  was  soothing  to  her.  Why  should 
he  know  ?  Her  phantom  was  one  of  an  irrevo- 
cable past.  Slowly  her  face  relaxed.  She  smiled 
upon  him  with  a  kindliness  greater  than  his 
own;  she  must  always  love  the  more  because 
she  knew  the  face  of  sacrifice.  "  We  can't  have 
everything,"  she  said  quietly.  "  It  was  some- 
thing you  never  wanted,  John." 


138  KING'S   END 

"  No,"  said  the  Elder,  settling  into  a  chair, 
while  she  went  on  with  her  work,  "  I  never  did. 
I  was  called  —  from  the  first.  But  now,  when 
I  'm  almost  ready  to  lay  down  my  bones,  I  see 
how  good  the  earth  is  —  how  sweet  it  is  to  them 
that  live  as  nature  does." 

Her  hands  trembled  over  their  task.  At  that 
moment,  the  ways  of  life  seemed  to  her  inscru- 
table. Why  had  he  come  so  long  a  path  to  learn 
what  any  nesting  bird  could  have  told  him  years 
ago  ?  "  I  'm  glad  you  said  it,"  he  went  on. 
"  You  need  n't  speak  again ;  but  we  '11  stay.  Yes, 
we  '11  stay.  I  see  what  a  hard  row  you  Ve  had 
to  hoe,  tramping  here  and  yonder  when  you 
wanted  a  home  and  little  things  about  you. 
That  would  have  been  better.  That  would  have 
been  nearer  right.  Well,  I  wish  he'd  cared." 
He  got  up  and  walked  hastily  away.  She  un~ 
derstood  his  shyness.  He  could  hear  the  con- 
fessions of  men  and  women  who  cried  upon  God, 
either  in  grief  or  sin,  but  because  she  was  of  his 
own  blood,  her  soul  must  keep  its  veil  before 
him.  They  had  approached  too  near.  Now  they 
would  stand  outwardly  aloof  for  a  time,  though 
that  nearness  could  never  be  forgotten.  So  she 
sat  and  marveled  over  all  the  past,  and  plucked 
a  little  of  the  sweetness  sure  to  blossom  some 
time  over  graves. 


KING'S   END  139 

Nancy,  hearing  their  voices,  had  gone  out  to 
the  garden  beds ;  but  now  that  Elder  Kent  was 
sauntering  down  the  road,  she  came  in  and,  sit- 
ting down,  regarded  Julia  absently.  "  What  a 
lazy  thing  I  am  !  "  she  said.  "  I  let  you  and 
mother  do  it  all.  Give  me  the  peas.  I  '11  pick 
them  over." 

But  Julia  shook  her  head  and  tidily  sifted  out 
the  refuse.  She  worked  very  hard  and  fast 
nowadays.  It  was  easier. 

"  I  suppose  we  must  n't  care  about  comfort, 
even  for  other  folks,"  said  Nancy  irrelevantly, 
"  or  money.  You  gave  up  all  you  had,  did  n't 
you  ? " 

Julia  smiled  at  her  in  a  mild,  satirical  fashion. 

"  We  had  quite  a  piece  of  land,"  she  answered, 
"and  the  old  homestead,  and  some  money. 
When  mother  died,  John  sold  his  half  and  gave 
it  to  the  poor ;  so  I  gave  mine.  I  threw  it  in 
because  I  did  n't  care  what  'come  of  me,  and  if 
I  could  have  given  my  blood,  I  'd  have  done  it. 
There  are  times  when  you  can't  go  far  enough." 

"  But  God  took  care  of  you  ?  "  asked  Nancy 
timidly.  She  was  thinking  of  her  mother. 

Julia  smiled  again,  and  stretched  out  her  lean 
hands. 

"That's  what  took  care  of  us,"  she  said. 
"  I  Ve  sewed  off  the  ends  of  all  my  fingers.  He 


140  KING'S   END 

thinks  I  do  it  because  I  like  to  help  'round. 
I  Ve  knit,  and  braided  rags.  Folks  save  up  work 
three  months  ahead  because  old  Julia 's  coming. 
You  know  how  it  is  here  in  this  house.  Your 
mother 's  waited  all  summer  to  get  that  quilting 
done.  We  '11  set  it  up  this  afternoon."  She  rose 
practically  and  took  her  way  to  the  kitchen  to 
seek  another  job. 

But  Nancy  detained  her  with  beseeching 
hand.  "  The  Bible  says,  *  Take  no  thought,' " 
she  ventured. 

Julia  paused,  looking  down  into  the  pan,  that 
same  sad  smile  playing  about  her  lips. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  Bible  sayings," 
she  replied.  "  I  've  heard  'em  so  much  they  go 
into  one  ear  and  out  of  t'other.  They  're  like 
the  wind  that  blows.  But  here  are  we,  brother 
and  I.  We  turned  over  what  we  had  to  the  poor- 
farm.  They  built  two  new  barns  with  it,  and 
lightning  struck  'em,  one  after  another,  and 
they  burnt  to  the  ground.  And  we  're  old  folks, 
and  perhaps  we  shall  die  under  a  fence,  and 
perhaps  the  county '11  have  to  support  us. 
That's  all  I  know."  She  went  on  into  the 
kitchen,  but  presently  she  came  back,  animated, 
fierce,  as  Nancy  had  seen  her  in  the  woods. 
"  But  I  can  tell  you  this,"  said  she.  "  You  can 
talk  about  calling  and  election  all  you  like,  but 


KING'S   END  141 

you  get  to  be  an  old  woman,  and  this  is  what 
you  've  learned.  We  're  made  to  live  here,  here 
in  this  world.  Time  enough  for  another  when 
you  get  there.  That 's  all.  Your  mother  want 
the  fire  blazed?" 

Still,  Nancy  knew  she  was  to  go.  If  God 
demanded  the  sacrifice  of  her  mother  as  well 
as  herself,  should  she  refuse  it  ? 

That  afternoon,  as  they  were  sitting  about 
the  quilting-frame,  after  Julia  and  Aunt  Lindy 
had  snapped  the  pattern,  a  wonderful  thing  hap- 
pened. Mrs.  Jeffries,  who  lived  at  peace  with 
her  neighbors  but  scorned  to  call  on  them,  sud- 
denly appeared  in  the  way.  She  wore  her  best 
bonnet  of  ten  years  agone ;  for  why  should  one 
debarred  from  church  by  her  affliction,  and  from 
society  by  temperament,  pluck  the  latest  bloom 
on  fashion's  tree  ?  It  was  a  decent  crape,  her 
mourning  for  the  doctor.  But  the  day  being 
hot,  she  eschewed  her  alpaca,  and  chose  instead 
a  sprigged  lilac  of  an  earlier  date.  No  one  in 
King's  End  would  have  thought  of  challenging 
the  consistency  of  that  mourning.  The  bonnet 
was  its  emblem,  a  part  adequately  standing  for 
the  whole.  The  four  women  rose  at  sight  of 
her,  and  spools  danced  merrily  on  the  quilt. 
Aunt  Lindy  fell  into  a  state  of  petrifaction,  re- 
covering herself  to  mutter,  "  Well,  forever !  " 


I42  KING'S  END 

and  put  her  thimble  on  and  off  her  fat  and 
freckled  finger. 

But  Mrs.  Jeffries  remained  unmoved. 

"Don't  let  me  discommode  anybody,"  she  re- 
marked graciously.  "  I  '11  set  right  down  here 
an'  look  on.  Tumbler  pattern,  ain't  it  ?  Ever 
do  a  risin'  sun  ? "  It  was  Nancy  she  addressed, 
with  a  courteous  persistency  to  which  the  girl 
was  all  unused.  Did  she  not  remember  those 
years  when  Mrs.  Jeffries  had  scorned  her  shy 
neighborliness,  and  all  because  Martin  came 
a-courting  ?  But  she  shouted  her  answer,  look- 
ing, as  she  did  so,  expectantly  for  the  trumpet. 

"  My  ear  trumpet,  dear? "  asked  Mrs.  Jeffries, 
in  honeyed  sympathy.  "  I  forgot  it.  All  I  can 
do,  I  forgit  suthin'.  Sometimes  it 's  my  hand- 
kercher,  an'  sometimes  it 's  my  spec's.  I  dunno 
when  it 's  been  my  trumpet." 

Aunt  Lindy  rolled  her  eyes.  "  My  heavenly 
Father !  "  she  ejaculated.  She  knew  all  about 
this  fashion  of  getting  the  talk  to  one's  self. 

"Awful  to  be  tied  to  it,  ain't  it  ?"  shrieked 
Susan,  in  shrill  staccato. 

"  He 's  up  to  the  new  house,"  returned  Mrs. 
Jeffries  sweetly.  "The  carpenters  are  packin' 
up  to-day.  'T  won't  be  long  before  it 's  ready  to 
go  into."  She  nodded  at  Nancy,  and  Nancy, 
blushing,  felt  herself  committed  to  the  altar. 


KING'S   END  143 

She  was  beginning  to  smile  over  the  irony  of  life. 
Martin  was  giving  her  up  just  as  his  mother  had 
"come  'round." 

"  I  s'pose  you  '11  be  packin'  up  to  go  in! "  cried 
Susan,  with  a  harmless  indiscretion  whiffling  by 
unheeded. 

"  So  I  tell  him,"  said  Mrs.  Jeffries.  "  There 's 
real  pretty  papers  now.  I  said  only  this  mornin', 
'  I  dunno  's  ever  I  see  papers  prettier  'n  they  be 
this  year.  But  I  don't  trust  you  to  pick  'em  out. 
Better  get  somebody  to  help  you,'  says  I." 
Again  she  smiled  at  Nancy. 

Meantime  Julia  went  on  quilting  deftly  and 
thinking  her  own  thoughts.  The  sound  of  her 
clicking  thimble  punctuated  the  talk.  Aunt 
Lindy  opened  her  mouth  at  intervals  in  a  futile 
protest,  and  then  closed  it.  "  She  's  cranky  as 
ever,  for  all  she  's  so  honeyed,"  she  muttered  to 
Julia.  "  What 's  she  got  into  her  head  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't,  Aunt  Lindy !  "  exclaimed  Nancy 
hastily,  but  the  rash  one  only  muttered,  "  She 
can't  hear  !  "  and  Mrs.  Jeffries  smiled  impar- 
tially. 

"Well,  I  must  be  goin',"  she  said  at  last. 
"  Nancy,  I  meant  to  bring  you  a  tumbler  o'  my 
new  jell.  I  '11  send  it  over.  Martin  '11  be 
comin'." 

Susan  looked  beseechingly  at  her  daughter, 


144  KING'S   END 

to  forestall  denial,  and  Mrs.  Jeffries  saw.  "  He 's 
been  ruther  busy  lately,"  she  explained,  "  helpin* 
that  Alia  Mixon  git  her  deeds  an'  things  set- 
tled. But  that  won't  last  long.  Law,  it 's  'most 
over  now  !  "  She  took  Nancy's  hand  in  her 
mitted  fingers,  and  Nancy  knew  at  last  that 
this  was  kindliness  and  not  contrary  winds. 
And  she  was  grateful.  Some  one  wanted  her, 
at  least.  "Well,"  concluded  Mrs.  Jeffries, 
"good-day.  Come  over  an'  see  us."  They 
nodded  like  cheerful  mandarins,  and  she,  add- 
ing the  country  formula,  "  So  do !  so  do ! " 
stepped  briskly  away  down  the  path. 

The  four  looked  at  her  with  varying  interest, 
and  Aunt  Lindy  from  a  ruthless  skepticism. 

"Well,"  asked  she,  "how  long's  it  goin'  to 
last  ?  You  pass  me  that  thread." 

"  Change  of  heart,  I  guess,"  commented  Su- 
san, glancing  sharply  at  her  daughter. 

"  I  don't  take  much  stock  in  it  myself,"  con- 
tinued Aunt  Lindy. 

A  sudden  apparition  darkened  the  window : 
Mrs.  Jeffries'  crape-bound  head.  Susan  gave 
a  little  cry,  "  My  suz  !  "  and  Aunt  Lindy,  prick- 
ing her  finger,  echoed  the  monosyllable,  "  Suz  !  " 

The  guest  still  smiled  with  undiminished 
sweetness.  "Nancy,"  she  called.  "You  come 
out  here  a  minute.  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 


KING'S   END  145 

Nancy  obeyed,  and  Mrs.  Jeffries  led  her  cau- 
tiously down  to  the  gate,  where  they  might  talk 
unheard.  She  took  the  girl's  hand  and  patted 
it.  "  You  look  real  pale,"  said  she. 

"  It  is  n't  that !  "  cried  Nancy,  from  a  maiden 
shame.  "  I  've  had  things  happen  to  me." 

But  the  visitor,  still  smiling,  could  not  hear. 
"I  want  you  to  come  down  to  tea  some  day 
soon,"  she  said  eagerly,  "  when  that  Alia  goes. 
'T won't  be  long.  I'll  let  ye  know."  She 
looked  in  the  girl's  face  with  a  strange,  new 
tenderness.  "  There !  there  !  "  said  she.  "  It  '11 
all  come  out  right."  She  went  away  down  the 
road  nodding  and  smiling,  and  Nancy,  half 
vexed,  half  moved,  went  back  to  the  house. 
Her  mother  met  her,  all  excitement. 

"  Well,"  she  began,  "  I  guess  it 's  easy  to  see 
which  way  the  wind  blows  there.  She  dressed 
up  an'  come  over  here  a-purpose  to  show  she 's 
on  your  side." 

"  Oh,  mother  ! "  cried  Nancy,  "  I  should  think 
you  'd  be  ashamed  to  talk  so.  There  are  n't 
any  sides  !  " 

"  Yes,  there  is,  too,"  said  Susan  stubbornly. 
"  There  's  yours  and  Alia  Mixon's.  He  's  begun 
to  go  with  her,  an'  not  to  blame  either,  you 
treated  him  so.  An'  his  mother 's  come  over 
here  to  call,  an'  show  where  she  Stan's.  An* 
I  'm  glad  an'  thankful,  for  one." 


146  KING'S   END 

"  It 's  no  use  talking  so,  mother,"  said  Nancy, 
from  her  depths  of  resolution.  "  I  've  nothing 
to  do  with  such  things.  I  told  you  before,  I  'm 
going  to  preach  the  gospel." 

"Preach  the  fiddlestick!"  cried  Susan. 
"One  night  I  lay  awake  thinkin'  about  that, 
an'  the  next  you  cut  up  to  wash  that  baby, 
an*  I  'm  worried  to  death.  I  wish  you  was  like 
other  girls." 

That  was  a  loving  lie ;  but  Nancy  took  it  full 
in  the  heart,  and  bled.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
only  her  mother's  blame  was  needed  to  com- 
plete this  bitter  year.  She  would  not  answer, 
but  she  salved  her  wound  by  the  certainty  that 
some  day  everybody  would  be  sorry.  She  went 
in  and  quilted  in  a  thrifty  martyrdom,  and 
Susan,  looking  at  her  across  the  frame,  thought 
achingly  how  entirely  admirable  she  was.  When 
they  set  the  supper-table  she  did  remark  dryly, 
"  You  're  a  good  girl,"  and  Nancy  was  satisfied. 


VI 

So  far  the  baby  had  played  the  part  of  an 
unresisting  puppet ;  now  she  took  matters  into 
her  own  hands  and  fell  ill.  With  the  first  wail 
of  suffering  not  to  be  accounted  for  by  wind  or 
a  healthy  temper,  Luke's  heart  stopped  its 
beating,  only  to  bound  again  with  that  terrible 
premonitory  throb  born  of  fear  for  what  we 
love.  In  that  instant  he  realized  that  she  was 
flesh  of  his  flesh  ;  through  loneliness,  indeed,  he 
had  won  to  a  double  fatherhood.  He  loved  her, 
—  warm,  perverse,  exacting  little  bit  of  mortal- 
ity. His  natural  self-confidence  had  not  les- 
sened in  the  main,  through  nursery  warfare, 
though  there  had  been  days  when,  confronted 
by  problems  that  only  mothers  tolerate,  he 
hated  her  even  while  he  loved.  "God  only 
knows  what  I  'm  goin'  to  do,"  he  got  in  the 
habit  of  muttering  when  he  dressed  her ;  God 
might  be  a  myth,  but  the  phrase  had  not  lost 
potency.  Yet,  one  after  another,  those  gales 
had  been  weathered,  and  he  took  heart.  She 
was  a  trouble,  that  he  owned  to  himself,  but  a 


148  KING'S  END 

trouble  he  could  manage.  It  was  not  so  hard 
to  take  care  of  a  baby,  after  all. 

But  that  triumph  was  of  yesterday.  Now, 
when  she  cried  without  ceasing,  and  her  cheek 
grew  angry  red,  he  was  beside  himself.  Should 
he  go  down  into  the  village  and  ask  for  old 
wives'  wisdom  ?  Own  himself  beaten,  and  have 
the  story  carried  to  Horner's  ?  Or  should  he 
fly  for  a  doctor,  only  to  be  given  that  odious 
recipe  of  "  woman's  care  "  ?  Neither,  quite  yet. 
But  the  smithy  was  closed,  and  no  one  saw  him 
trundling  the  little  cart  "  down  along  "to  the 
store.  Big  Joan  came  up  and  stood  colossal  in 
the  road.  Luke  saw  her,  and  held  his  purpose 
with  an  iron  hand,  lest  he  weaken  and  beg  her 
to  come  in.  At  that  moment  the  baby  was 
asleep;  so  he  stood  by  the  window  and  an- 
swered his  besieger,  glance  for  glance. 

"  Yes,"  she  said  coolly,  "  I  've  come  up  to  spy 
out  the  land.  Mis'  Horner  says  you  've  killed 
an'  eat  her.  Where  is  she  ? " 

"She's  on  my  bed." 

"  How  's  she  look  ? " 

"  Same  's  any  young  one,  I  s'pose." 

Joan  shook  her  head  at  him,  and,  with  an 
incidental  movement  of  her  huge  arm,  tossed 
aside  a  fallen  branch.  "When  she  come  up 
here,"  she  answered,  "  she  wa'n't  same  as  any. 


KING'S   END  149 

She  was  the  fattest  baby  ever  I  see:  like  a 
Mullingar  heifer,  beef  to  the  heels." 

"You '11  wake  her  up,"  he  warned  her  has- 
tily, lest  that  betraying  wail  begin  again. 
"How 'sold  Mis'  Homer?" 

"  Sick.  Wore  out  cryin'.  Yeller  's  a  duck's 
foot." 

Luke  smiled,  because  smiling  made  a  part  of 
his  warfare,  but  he  was  conscious  of  not  really 
wishing  ill  to  anybody.  If  the  child  could  live, 
and  look  at  him  again  with  impish  eyes,  he 
knew,  in  his  sick  soul,  how  little  he  cared  about 
the  downfall  of  his  enemies. 

"Don't  you  want  the  rest  of  her  clo'es?" 
asked  Joan. 

"  No ;  I  'm  goin'  to  pay,  byme-by,  for  what 
I  Ve  had.  I  tore  that  dress  she  had  on  when 
she  come,  but  I  can  make  it  good." 

"That  old  sprig?  Law!  'twa'n't  wuth  the 
powder  to  blow  it  up.  What  you  so  slicked  up 
for,  'round  the  yard  ?  " 

Luke  frowned.  He  had  cleared  his  moun- 
tain lawn,  and  piled  a  brush-heap  beside  the 
house.  He  was  only  waiting  for  a  north  wind 
before  burning  it.  Nancy  should  find  the  little 
domain  snug  and  trim  when  she  chose  to  come. 
He  turned  away  without  answering,  and  Big 
Joan,  calmly  cognizant  of  human  warfare  and 


I5o  KING'S   END 

the  beauty  of  peace,  swung  down  the  hillside, 
holding  her  skirts  above  mammoth  ankles. 
Many  years  ago  Joan  had  been  in  love,  and  she 
had  recovered  from  that  fever,  strong  to  enjoy 
the  breath  of  life  and  let  her  neighbors  draw  it 
as  they  chose.  She  would  not  "meddle  nor 
make : "  not  because,  like  the  village,  she 
dreaded  hostile  spirits,  but  because  she  was 
now  only  a  looker-on.  She  still  loved  the  baby, 
yet  not  too  much.  Joan  was  sworn  not  to  de- 
pend on  any  answering  kindliness.  She  knew 
it  would  be  well  for  Luke  to  sink  the  feud  and 
let  the  child  come  sanely  home, — yet  it  was 
not  hers  to  urge  the  crisis. 

After  she  was  gone,  he  had  a  moment  of  that 
quietude  begot,  in  trouble,  from  the  ring  of 
friendly  words.  The  house  seemed  less  lonely. 
When  the  baby  awoke,  she  must  be  better.  But 
she  was  not  better ;  and  he  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  a  fevered  tendance  upon  her,  walking  up 
and  down  the  little  room,  singing.  And  because 
he  knew  no  soothing  tunes,  he  sang, 

"  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul," 

and  never  thought  of  irony.  Tunes  were  of  no 
use,  save  to  put  babies  to  sleep. 

At  nightfall  she  did  drowse  a  little,  and,  worn 
with  anxiety,  sick  from  lack  of  food,  he  looked 


KING'S   END  151 

upon  her  with  an  agonizing  gaze.  In  the  dusk 
of  the  room  she  seemed  unreal  and  pitiful,  —  a 
poor  little  changeling  whimpering  away  from 
life.  He  rushed  out  of  the  house  and  ran,  hat- 
less  and  distraught,  down  the  hill  and  into  the 
Eliot  yard.  Nancy  was  on  the  porch  alone. 
The  very  sight  of  her  seemed  a  deliverance,  her 
solitude  a  happy  omen.  She  was  brooding  there 
in  the  dark,  her  head  bent  low.  Nancy  looked 
very  sweet  and  real,  but  she  felt  old  from  the 
perplexity  of  a  universe  gone  wrong.  She 
started  when  Luke  appeared  before  her,  running 
noiselessly  in  his  old  shoes,  and  shadowy  as  a 
night  bird.  His  face  foreboded  tragedy. 

" Oh,  Nancy !  "  he  gasped,  "come  out  a  min- 
ute. I  don't  want  anybody  to  hear."  She  hes- 
itated, and  he  besought  her.  "  Suthin'  's  hap- 
pened. Oh,  Nancy,  come ! " 

"  Is  it  the  baby  ?  "  she  whispered,  following 
him  down  the  path.  He  opened  the  gate  for 
her,  and  they  stepped  out  into  the  road.  He 
turned  homeward,  and  Nancy,  with  her  old 
sense  of  following  the  spirit,  kept  pace  with  him. 
He  was  drawing  dreadful  breaths,  every  one  a 
sob,  and  her  heart  ached  to  comfort  him.  "  Is 
it  the  baby  ? "  she  asked  again. 

He  stopped  a  moment  and  looked  up  into  the 
dark  sky.  "  She  's  sick,"  he  groaned  at  last. 


152  KING'S   END 

"  You  've  got  to  have  somebody  that  knows 
more  than  I,"  said  Nancy,  pausing;  but  he 
started  on,  fearing  to  let  her  hesitate.  She  fol- 
lowed him,  irresolute. 

"  You  come,"  he  urged,  looking  back  at  her. 
"  You  tell  me  what  you  think,  an'  we  '11  see 
what 's  best.  I  '11  do  it.  Yes,  I  '11  do  it,  Nancy, 
if  you  '11  only  tell." 

She  thought  his  mind  was  with  the  child ;  so 
she  might  be  frankly  sorry  for  him.  But  the 
relief  of  her  presence  was  acute,  and  he  grew 
almost  happy  with  the  exaltation  of  trouble 
under  the  shining  of  great  joy.  Her  quietude 
seemed  like  that  of  mother  and  wife  in  one. 

"  Nancy !  "  he  cried,  "  Nancy !  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Stop  a  minute  right  here.  I  've  got  to  stop. 
I  've  been  on  the  go  two  days  an'  three  nights. 
I  guess  I  ain't  eat  much  either.  Wait  one 
minute."  He  stood  trembling  beside  her,  and 
Nancy  waited  in  a  sweet,  maternal  patience. 
He  turned  to  her  sharply,  but  his  voice  fell  low : 
"  Nancy,  I  can't  ever  let  you  go.  I  've  got  to 
have  you.  Oh,  Nancy !  Will  you  ? " 

His  need  of  her  called  loudly,  and  all  her  old 
ascetic  spirit  sprang  up  and  ranged  itself  with 
him.  If  she  wished  to  do  God  service,  was  not 
this  her  place  ?  When  he  should  believe  and 


KING'S   END  153 

bow  the  knee,  perhaps  they  might  go  together 
and  win  souls.  Puritan  tradition  was  strong  in 
her ;  she  deified  the  harder  task  only  because 
it  was  too  hard. 

"I  can't  promise,"  she  answered  slowly. 
"  I  Ve  got  to  talk  with  the  Elder.  But  maybe 
I  will." 

She  spoke  innocently,  foreseeing  nothing ; 
but  that  instant  his  arms  were  about  her,  and 
she  felt  his  breath  upon  her  cheek.  There  was 
a  rustling  in  the  field  near  by,  but  that  she  did 
not  hear,  to  be  impressed  as  she  had  been  lately 
with  the  certainty  that  some  one  followed  her 
when  she  went  out  after  dark.  She  heard 
nothing  and  knew  nothing  save  that  Luke  was 
holding  her  in  a  hideous  mastery.  Without 
conscious  will  of  her  own,  she  set  her  hands 
against  his  breast  and  pushed  him  from  her. 
He  fell  to  one  side,  impelled  not  only  by  her 
touch  but  the  moral  impact  of  her  recoil. 
"  Oh  !  "  cried  Nancy  fiercely,  "  I  hate  you  !  " 

A  man  jumped  over  the  fence  above  and  came 
walking  along  the  road.  It  was  Martin  Jeffries. 
He  passed  them  with  a  nod  and  went  on.  Had 
he  seen  ?  How  much  had  he  seen  ?  Nancy 
felt,  in  the  double  revulsion,  as  if  her  world 
reeled  under  her.  It  was  sufficiently  against 
the  course  of  nature  to  think  of  Martin  with 


154  KING'S   END 

another  girl ;  it  was  a  deeper  stain  that  he 
should  find  her  also  light  o'  love.  Thrown  from 
that  high  altitude  whence  she  was  accustomed 
to  reprove  him,  indignation  surged  in  her,  but 
only  against  the  man  at  her  side. 

"  Oh ! "  she  cried  to  Luke,  "  oh,  how  I  do  hate 
you!" 

He  stood  still,  his  arms  hanging.  Nancy 
would  have  fled  homeward,  save  that  she  feared 
encountering  the  other  man ;  for  sure  though 
she  was  that  love  lay  dead  between  them,  she 
trembled  back  from  his  reproach.  So  she 
waited  and  said  again,  as  an  excuse  for  stay- 
ing, "I  hate  you!" 

Luke  moved  toward  her  gropingly.  "You 
said  maybe  you  would,"  he  muttered. 

His  hoarse  voice  sickened  her. 

"  But  you  need  n't  have  come  near  me !  "  she 
cried.  "  It 's  one  thing  to  go  up  and  take  care 
of  folks ;  it 's  another —  Oh,  my  soul !  my  soul ! " 
She  put  her  hands  to  her  face  and  brushed 
angrily  at  the  splashing  tears.  "  We  won't  have 
any  more  mistakes  about  this.  Don't  you  ever 
come  near  me  again.  If  the  baby 's  sick,  you 
go  down  and  tell  Big  Joan.  I  won't  step  foot 
in  your  house." 

She  turned  and  fled  ;  and  Luke,  weakly  stum- 
bling toward  the  home  he  feared  to  reach, 


KING'S   END  155 

heard  only  three  words  beating  at  his  ears  :  "I 
hate  you  !  I  hate  you  !  "  He  dragged  himself 
up  to  the  little  house,  lying  dark  and  very  still. 
Was  the  baby  dead?  He  did  not  care.  But 
when  he  had  struck  a  light,  dropping  one  match 
after  another  from  a  nerveless  hand,  he  found 
that  the  baby  was  awake,  that  she  was  no 
better  —  and  he  did  care.  She  had  cried  her- 
self into  a  piteous  acquiescence,  and  while  she 
lay  blinking  under  the  light,  unlovely  in  her 
misery,  he  felt  within  him  the  welding  of  human 
ties.  This  little  thing  had  never  turned  against 
him.  She  was  his. 

"O  God!"  he  groaned.  "O  God!"  and 
falling  prone  beside  her,  he  prayed.  Whatever 
he  said,  it  was  from  an  unfathered  heart  to  the 
Tyrant  above  who  had  cunningly  waited  for  the 
moment  of  keenest  need  to  pounce  upon  him. 
He  seemed  to  himself  a  beleaguered  soul, 
who,  now  that  starvation  lurked  within  the  cit- 
adel, must  capitulate  to  an  enemy  omnipotently 
armed. 

"  I  '11  do  anything,"  he  kept  saying,  "  if  You  '11 
only  let  her  be."  He  tried  drearily  to  remem- 
ber phrases  he  had  once  called  cant,  in  case 
they  should  be  fleeter-winged  to  reach  the  ear 
accustomed  to  them,  as  in  time  of  sickness  we 
seek  a  formula  of  cure.  But  all  he  could  do 


156  KING'S   END 

was  to  moan,  "  I  '11  do  anything,  anything !  " 
What  tribute  had  he  to  offer  to  the  Tyrant  ?  His 
heathen  fetish,  his  wicked  books !  He  gathered 
them  in  his  arms,  ran  with  them  to  the  yard, 
and  tossed  them  on  his  pile  of  brush.  Never 
mind  where  the  wind  lay.  Though  the  house 
went  with  them,  they  should  burn.  He  and 
the  baby  could  flee  out  into  the  night,  still  safe, 
if  the  heavenly  foe  could  only  be  appeased.  He 
touched  a  match  to  his  sacrificial  pile,  and  the 
dry  brush  burned.  He  stood  by  it,  shaking  in 
a  fanatical  frenzy,  and  when  the  wind  caught 
up  a  shower  of  sparks  and  rained  them  on  the 
house,  he  only  smiled.  Let  the  One  above 
either  burn  or  slay  as  pleased  Him.  God  would 
save  what  He  chose.  It  was  futile  to  combat 
heaven. 

Sally  Horner,  a  quivering  thing  chained  to  a 
bed  of  nettles,  lay  in  her  room  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill.  Big  Joan  was  out  neighboring,  and 
Obed  sat  on  the  kitchen  doorstone,  smoking  a 
placid  pipe.  To  the  woman  with  an  inert  body 
and  seething  heart,  it  seemed  as  if  the  powers 
of  all  the  world  were  leagued  against  her.  Night 
after  night  she  had  lain  there  in  the  dusk,  lis- 
tening to  the  hideous  summer  sounds,  and  plan- 
ning what  she  would  do  if,  like  the  exasperating 
creatures  about  her,  she  had  her  legs.  It  would 


KING'S   END  157 

be  easy  then  to  scale  colossal  heights.  She 
made  no  limit  to  her  achievements.  All  she 
needed  was  to  walk  the  earth  again.  Hurrying 
plans,  all  futile,  pieced  themselves  together  in 
her  head.  Obed  had  promised  that  after  haying 
he  would  drive  over  to  Ryde  and  ask  a  lawyer 
about  "the  rights  on't;"  but  she  knew  the 
cause  of  his  delay.  It  was  neither  haying  nor 
any  other  ancient  reason  made  to  put  off  women 
folks.  It  was  because  the  lawyer,  holding  with 
her,  would  spur  him  on  to  action ;  and  Luke, 
offended,  then  might  burn  his  barn !  So,  re- 
solved to  take  counsel  of  none,  since  all  be- 
trayed her,  she  lay  praying  her  fiery  prayers 
and  scoffing  at  herself  for  wasted  words.  Luke's 
bonfire  blossomed  rosily,  a  gorgeous  flower  of 
night.  The  horror  of  it  held  her  silent.  His 
house  was  burning,  and  he  might  be  away  from 
home.  Where  was  the  baby  ?  She  had  learned 
her  lesson  well ;  nobody  would  help  her.  Not 
a  word  did  she  speak  to  Obed,  sitting  out  there 
with  his  pipe,  mourning  the  family  crosses.  She 
threw  back  the  sheet  and,  with  an  old-time 
motion  of  her  youth,  when  she  used  to  spring 
out  of  bed  for  a  day's  spinning,  set  her  feet 
upon  the  floor.  Where  were  her  clothes  ? 
Some  of  them  in  the  bedroom,  and  groping 
there,  she  unearthed  from  a  wilderness  of  calico 


158  KING'S   END 

the  articles  known  as  a  short-gown  and  petti- 
coat, and  threw  them  on.  There  were  no  shoes, 
but  she  found  a  pair  of  old  rubbers,  and  slipped 
them  on  her  feet.  Then,  as  she  was,  not  cover- 
ing her  night-capped  head,  she  ran  noiselessly 
into  the  road  and  up  the  hill.  She  had  the 
strength  of  those  under  divine  constraining. 
Sand  sifted  into  her  rubbers  in  her  shuffling 
run,  and  once,  with  a  muttered  exclamation  that 
was  not  of  the  sanctuary,  she  stopped  to  shake 
them  free.  Through  all  her  journey  she  thought 
of  nothing;  not  her  past  weakness,  nor  the 
beauty  of  the  night  and  her  own  good  fortune 
in  hastening,  untrammeled,  through  it.  She 
only  knew  she  was  in  haste. 

And  so  she  came  upon  Luke,  standing  by  his 
bonfire,  and  still  tending  it  with  a  mechanical 
zeal.  The  books  were  burned ;  but  he  was 
throwing  on  limb  after  limb  from  his  woodpile 
near  at  hand.  Even  their  ashes  must  be  con- 
sumed. His  face  glowed  crimson  from  the 
heat;  with  wild  eyes  and  hair  disordered,  he 
seemed  beside  himself,  —  a  demon  raking  the 
embers  hither  and  thither  with  a  green  sapling, 
and  ever  feeding  the  flame.  To  Sally  Horner's 
one  glance,  cast  upon  him  in  passing,  he  loomed 
malignant,  though  no  more  terrible  than  her 
mind  had  ever  pictured  him.  She  flitted  past 


KING'S   END  159 

into  the  house,  and  he,  recovering  from  the 
sight  of  her  night-capped  head,  followed.  When 
he  entered,  she  was  on  the  floor  by  the  lounge, 
where  the  child  lay  fretting.  Her  soft  old  cheek 
was  against  the  baby's  foot.  She  seemed  to  be 
devouring  it  with  love.  Luke  smiled  bitterly, 
and  told  himself  that  this  was  the  answer  he 
might  have  expected.  God  had  sent  his  enemy. 
Yet  when  he  saw  how  her  hands  dwelt  upon 
the  baby  without  disturbing  it,  when  he  guessed 
how  the  mother-hunger  had  ached  in  her  since 
she  was  a  young  wife  and  her  own  child  fed  at 
her  breast,  he  fell  back  a  step  and  forbore  to 
sneer.  He  loved  the  child;  but  here  was  a 
love  he  could  not  weigh,  because  it  struck  root 
in  primal  being.  This  was  the  little  bit  of 
earth  that  held  her  to  the  earth. 

His  step  was  noiseless,  but  she  felt  him  near. 
When  she  could  withdraw  her  hungry  eyes  from 
the  untidy  little  creature,  she  glanced  up  at  him, 
quite  incidentally,  as  if  already  sure  of  victory. 
"  Is  ary  one  through  ? "  she  asked. 

"  One  what  ? "  inquired  the  uninitiated  male. 

She  inserted  her  finger  gently  between  the 
child's  lips,  and  the  baby  mumbled  at  it. 

"Poor  little  creatur' !  "  purred  Mrs.  Horner. 
"  Granny's  girl !  Poor  little  creatur' !  All 
swelled  up,  ain't  they,  darlin'  ?  Ache  like  all 


160  KING'S   END 

possessed !  What  'd  you  give  her  to  cut  'em 
on  ? "  she  asked  briskly,  addressing  Luke. 

"Cut  what?" 

"  Did  n't  you  give  her  anything  ?  Not  a  ring, 
nor  even  an  old  door  knob  ?  My  soul !  I 
should  n't  think  men  folks  knew  enough  to  go  in 
when  it  rains.  I  wonder  they  open  their  mouths 
for  feedin*  time." 

The  bucket  in  the  well  went  down  with  a 
prolonged  rumble,  but  neither  of  them  noticed. 

"  Here  's  the  ladder  !  "  called  a  man  without, 
and  Big  Joan  responded  :  — 

"  Up  with  ye  !  You  're  the  lightest.  I  '11  pass 
the  pails." 

But  the  two  within  were  absorbed  in  their 
nursery  talk  ;  they  had  forgotten  to  be  enemies. 

"  She  's  been  awful  sick,"  volunteered  Luke, 
noting  with  a  sacrificial  pang  how  the  child 
turned  to  the  tenderer  touch. 

"  She 's  awful  sick  now.  Ain't  you  done 
nothin'  for  her  ? " 

"  I  went  over  to  the  herb-woman."  He  spoke 
weakly,  knowing  the  fact  was  vulnerable.  "  She 
told  me  to  steep  some  catnip." 

"  Catnip !  My  soul !  Did  you  tell  her  she 
was  teethin'  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  know  it,"  confessed  Luke,  from  a 
humility  never  induced  in  him  by  the  powers 
above. 


KING'S   END  161 

"  Luke  Evans,  you  better  come  out  an'  bring 
the  baby ! "  called  Big  Joan  at  the  door.  "  Your 
house's  afire.  The  shingles  are ketched.  We're 
doin'  all  we  can  to  save  it." 

Mrs.  Horner  gathered  the  baby  into  her  arms, 
and  ran  out  across  the  road.  There  she  sat 
down  upon  a  mossy  bank,  and  held  the  child 
delightedly.  Luke  followed,  with  no  sort  of  in- 
terest, to  see  Elder  Kent  standing  on  the  roof, 
while  Joan  passed  him  pails  of  water  in  a  mar- 
velous succession. 

"  Come  along  down! "  called  the  householder. 
"  Let  the  damn  thing  go ! " 

"House  an'  barn?"  inquired  Joan,  letting 
down  the  bucket  with  a  clang.  She  loved  the 
occasion.  It  fitted  her  great  strength. 

"The  whole  business.     Let  her  burn." 

Elder  Kent  opened  his  lips  and  began  singing, 
because  he  could  work  faster,  as  the  rhythm-led 
sailor  pulls  at  the  ropes  :  — 

"  How  lost  was  my  condition  !  " 

and  Big  Joan  sang  too,  with  a  love  of  sound  if 
not  significance.  Her  cross  was  at  her  throat, 
and  good  St.  Joseph  in  her  pocket ;  but  she 
could  "join  in,"  with  any  heretic.  The  world 
was  very  big  to  Joan.  She  caught  a  tin  milk- 
pail  from  the  stake,  and  forced  it  into  Luke's 
unwilling  hand. 


1 62  KING'S   END 

"Here,"  said  she  dryly,  "you  take  this. 
T'other 's  heftier."  She  gave  him  a  little  ad- 
monitory push  toward  the  well ;  and  because 
she  would  not  yield,  he  had  to.  Only  to  rid  him- 
self of  human  things,  he  fought  the  fire  as 
madly  as  he  had  builded  it,  his  face  already  dis- 
torted with  a  pain  not  yet  quite  recognized. 
When  only  the  smell  of  smoke  lingered  in  the 
hot  air,  Joan  turned  down  her  sleeves  and  wiped 
her  face  with  her  apron,  dripping  wet.  She 
crossed  the  road  to  old  Mrs.  Horner,  sitting 
there  lulling  the  child  in  a  happy  dream. 

"  How  'd  you  get  out  o'  bed  ? "  she  asked. 

Sally  Horner  started.  Bed?  nothing  could 
be  further  from  her  thoughts.  She  was  in  Para- 
dise. Asked  how  she  came  there,  she  felt  a 
tremor,  like  any  other  way-worn  soul.  "  I  guess 
I  '11  be  gettin'  down  along  home,"  she  said 
faintly.  "Joan,  I  dunno's  I  can  git  there." 

It  was  the  moment  of  a  lifetime.  Joan  saw 
it,  and  chose  her  course.  "  Lemme  carry  the 
baby  into  the  house,"  said  she  indifferently. 
"Then  I  '11  help  ye  down  the  hill." 

Old  Mrs.  Horner  straightened.  "  Leave  the 
baby  ? "  cried  she.  "  I  'd  ruther  die  in  my 
tracks ! "  Her  eyes  followed  Luke,  bearing  the 
ladder  to  the  barn.  She  rose  and  stumbled,  but 
gathered  herself  again.  "  She 's  terrible  heavy," 


KING'S   END  163 

she  murmured,  "  but  I  can  lug  her.  Quick ! 
'fore  he  turns  the  corner !  "  She  started  down 
the  hill,  Joan  following  and  watching  her  with 
keen  intelligence. 

Joan  felt  quite  safe  in  the  plenitude  of  her 
strength  and  quickness.  She  had  no  mind  that 
either  the  child  or  the  old  woman  should  fall. 
She  was  pleased,  too,  with  her  own  forbearance 
in  merely  following  on  when,  coming  homeward 
earlier,  she  had  seen  Mrs.  Horner  scudding  out 
into  the  night.  It  showed  her  anew  that  mortal 
kind  was  meant  to  work  out  its  own  salvation. 

Safely  away  from  the  house,  in  the  shade  of 
the  old  white  pine,  Sally  Horner  paused  and 
then  sank,  not  weakly,  but  with  a  husbanded 
strength,  upon  the  rock  below. 

"  Joan,"  said  she,  "  you  go  back  an'  have  a 
word  with  him.  He 's  treated  me  decent  enough 
to-night,  an'  I  s'pose  he  does  set  by  the  little 
creatur'.  You  go  an'  ask  him  —  tell  him  I  've 
took  her.  Ask  him  "  —  She  choked  upon  the 
words.  A  moral  decency  constrained  her. 
What  if  he  refused  ?  Should  her  claim  be 
yielded  ?  She  did  not  know.  The  touch  of  that 
small,  hot  hand  was  stronger  upon  her  than 
fear  of  law  or  gospel.  Joan  was  three  steps 
away  when  she  called  again  :  "  Joan,  tell  him 
—  tell  him  he  can  come  an'  see  her.  He  '1! 


164  KING'S   END 

be  welcome."  It  was  a  concession,  but  little 
enough  to  buy  her  treasure  back.  More  than 
that,  she  had  learned  through  bitter  want  what 
loss  might  mean  to  an  unfriended  soul. 

Joan  went  into  the  cottage  where  the  two 
men  sat,  on  either  side  the  fireplace,  by  the 
light  of  a  single  candle.  Luke's  head  hung 
low,  and  he  gazed  at  the  uneven  bricks.  He 
remembered  dimly  how  he  had  swept  the  hearth 
that  morning  lest  Nancy  should  come.  The 
dust  was  there  already.  So  soon  was  work  un- 
done. The  Elder  seemed  like  a  silent  watcher 
beside  the  sick  or  dead.  Luke  glanced  up,  his 
eyes  all  lustreless. 

"What  is  it  now?"  he  asked. 

Joan  hesitated,  filled  with  a  sudden  mercy. 
She  could  not  see,  from  her  own  detached  place 
in  life,  how  human  things  should  surfer  so,  in 
traps  of  their  own  contriving.  She  pitied  them, 
as  we  pity  a  stumbling  child.  They  seemed  to 
her  like  the  midges  circling  now  about  the  light. 
Still,  her  eye  on  one  silly  moth,  she  swept  him 
away,  and  saved  him,  for  the  moment,  from  the 
flames. 

"  She  wants  you  should  come  down  an*  see 
the  baby,  whenever  you  feel  to." 

He  gave  a  little  gesture  of  dismissal,  with  a 
trembling  hand.  "  My  pipe  's  out,"  he  told  her. 
"  I  Ve  got  no  more  to  say." 


KING'S   END  165 

Joan  knew  too  much  to  probe  him  further. 
She  turned  away,  beckoning  the  Elder  after 
her.  "Ask  him  to  make  you  some  tea,"  she 
whispered  at  the  door.  "  Make  him  drink 
some.  He's  crazed."  She  hurried  into  the 
night,  and  Elder  Kent,  as  simply  as  a  child, 
went  back  and  asked  for  food.  He  was  beat 
out,  he  said,  with  a  recurrence  to  homely  speech, 
always  a  custom  when  common  sorrows  cried 
for  help.  Might  he  have  some  tea  ? 

Luke  went  heavily  about  making  it,  and  when 
the  table  was  spread,  fell  to  and  ate.  He  fed 
like  a  man  whose  mind  is  elsewhere,  but  in 
whom  the  mechanism  of  life,  once  started,  goes 
clicking  on,  in  spite  of  him.  Then  he  drowsed 
a  little,  and  the  Elder  bade  him  lie  down  a  spell. 
But  at  the  mention  of  quiescence,  Luke  was 
all  alive  again ;  and  it  was  only  when  he  had 
dulled  himself  anew  with  napping,  that  the 
Elder  rose  and  led  him  unresisting  to  his  bed. 
There  he  slept  till  day. 

Out  of  that  slumber  he  awoke  with  the  sense 
of  premonition  attending  a  struggle  not  yet 
ended.  The  nerves  came  blindly  back  to  feel- 
ing, like  slaves  who  remembered  the  scourge  of 
yesterday.  On  such  mornings,  the  senses  crawl 
forth  miserably;  they  are  passive  before  the 
gods.  "  What  do  you  ask  of  me  to-day  ? "  they 


i66  KING'S   END 

beseech  quiveringly.  "  Yet  do  not  tell  me.  Let 
it  be  laid  on  ounce  by  ounce.  Let  me  not  re- 
cognize nor  anticipate."  So  Luke  came  alive. 
At  first  he  lay  there,  refusing  conscious  pain. 
Then  his  eyes  grew  hot  with  tears.  He  was 
alone :  doubly  so,  bereft  of  the  warm  little 
presence  he  had  grown  to  love,  bereft  of  the 
girl  whose  memory  lingered  yet  about  the 
place.  He  turned  on  his  pillow,  and  sobbed 
despairingly. 

"  How  lost  was  my  condition  ! " 

rose  in  a  mellow  triumph  from  the  room  be- 
yond. The  Elder  was  stepping  about,  getting 
breakfast,  and  because  he  was  unused  to  ser- 
vice, droll  deeds  were  doing  there.  Luke  heard 
him,  and  rubbed  his  eyes.  For  the  moment, 
he  knew  what  it  is  to  be  a  child ;  only  the  Elder 
was  his  father,  not  the  tyrant  God.  Stumbling 
and  shamefaced,  he  went  into  the  kitchen,  and 
found  the  old  man  watching  the  fire  in  a  serene 
content.  "I  have  found  the  eggs,"  said  Elder 
Kent,  mildly  triumphant,  "and  some  coffee. 
But  I  should  hardly  ventur'  to  cook  anything." 
Luke  plunged  his  face  into  cold  water,  and 
felt  the  life  of  the  body  surging  up  to  meet  the 
taint  of  death  within  the  soul.  He  cooked  the 
breakfast,  with  a  careful  thrift,  and  they  ate 


KING'S   END  167 

together.  Then  the  Elder  repeated  the  Lord's 
Prayer  alone,  to  the  Amen ;  but  Luke  could 
only  stare  vacantly  out  through  the  open  door 
at  the  fringing  woods  and  feel  his  pain,  as  the 
brute  feels  it,  unhealed  by  memory  or  hope. 

"  Now  I  '11  be  off,"  said  the  Elder.  "  I  'm 
going  to  cut  across  lots  over  to  Pillcott,  and  see 
when  they  plan  to  have  camp-meeting.  But  I 
shall  come  back."  He  went  swiftly,  like  those 
who  feel  themselves  to  be  divinely  sent.  On 
the  pasture  upland,  hearing  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps, he  turned  about.  Luke,  afraid  of  soli- 
tude, was  following  on  behind.  He  could  not  be 
alone. 

Keenly  as  the  Elder  seemed  to  feel  all  sorrow, 
perhaps  he  never  quite  understood  the  human 
heart,  save  when  it  longed  for  righteousness. 
To  him,  the  rending  of  mortal  ties  meant  only 
an  alarum  sounded  to  strengthen  heavenly  ones. 
Just  what  doglike  devotion  had  sprung  up  in 
Luke's  heart,  he  did  not  know.  But  he  did  guess 
that  here  was  one  who,  whether  consciously  or 
not,  thirsted  after  the  living  God ;  and  he  held 
out  a  hand  in  welcome.  But  Luke  hardly 
looked  at  him.  He  came  striding  on  in  silence, 
humiliated  by  his  need,  yet  not  defying  it ;  and 
all  day  they  walked  together.  When,  at  Pill- 
cott, the  Elder  talked  to  one  or  another,  Luke 


168  KING'S   END 

stood  by,  not  listening.  He  bought  bread  and 
cheese,  and  they  went  back  into  the  woods  and 
sat  all  the  afternoon  long  by  a  little  dark  spring 
on  the  edge  of  the  pines.  The  Elder's  mind 
was  on  his  mission,  what  he  had  learned,  and 
what  he  should  show  to  others ;  but  Luke  sat 
in  a  deadly  dullness.  To  be  near  this  human 
thing,  so  warm  and  yet  aloof  and  un exacting, 
was  like  a  soft  air  upon  the  face.  It  fanned  a 
little,  though  it  could  not  heal. 

On  their  homeward  track,  they  came  to  a 
parting  of  the  ways,  and  Luke  took  the  one 
leading  by  a  roundabout  course  straight  into 
the  village.  Elder  Kent  followed  him  without 
question,  and  in  the  late  afternoon  they  walked 
up  the  road  toward  Sally  Homer's.  The  Elder 
tramped  steadily,  his  head  bent  and  a  little  to 
one  side,  as  if  thought  were  too  heavy  for  him  ; 
Luke  was  the  one  to  follow  now.  They  seemed 
to  have  no  connection  in  their  journeying.  So 
lax  was  the  Elder's  hold  on  human  affairs  that 
he  forgot  what  significance  the  Horner  place 
must  have  for  his  companion,  and  Luke,  keep- 
ing an  eye  on  his  plodding  form,  wondered 
if  he  would  go  in  to  inquire  whether  the  baby 
were  alive  or  dead.  The  windows  stood  wide 
open  to  the  summer  breeze,  and  seeing  that, 
the  stricture  on  his  throat  gave  way  a  little. 


KING'S   END  169 

If  the  child  were  dead,  they  would  have  closed 
the  blinds  and  turned  the  house  into  one  of 
mourning. 

A  rabble  of  men  and  boys  appeared  in  the 
mown  field  across  the  way,  striking  out  toward 
the  road.  They  talked  excitedly,  and  mopped 
their  streaming  faces.  Luke  stopped  opposite 
the  Horner  gate,  awaiting  them  ;  to  his  irritated 
anticipation,  it  seemed  now  as  if  any  village  stir 
meant  further  harrying.  He  remembered  the 
gang  sent  up  to  rescue  the  child  and,  morbidly 
keen  to  any  touch  of  omen,  wondered  if  this,  too, 
could  have  something  to  do  with  him.  The 
Elder,  missing  the  sound  of  his  footfall,  paused 
also,  and  those  King's  End  sons  and  fathers, 
coming  on  with  heavy  tread,  strode  over  the 
wall.  Their  boots  were  caked  with  mud,  and 
Eph  Cummings  carried  a  great  coil  of  rope, 
looped  loosely.  They  nodded,  with  little  grunts 
of  recognition,  but  though  the  usual  "  How-are- 
ye's  ?  "  were  lacking,  it  was  not  from  harsh  in- 
tention. They  remembered  that,  Luke  had 
been  concerned  in  an  emotional  scene,  the  night 
before,  and,  knowing  their  own  hatred  of  town 
talk,  were  shamefaced  for  him.  But  Obed 
dropped  silently  out  of  the  crowd,  and  slipped 
in  at  his  own  gate.  He  hurried  into  the  house 
and  shut  the  door,  without  a  glance  behind. 


i;o  KING'S   END 

Luke  understood.  Obed  was  going  in  to  hide 
the  child,  or  at  least  to  put  his  women  folk  on 
guard.  So  the  fools  about  him,  having  given 
him  a  bad  name,  were  bent  on  his  deserving  it ! 
The  men  dispersed,  all  but  Eph  Cummings,  who, 
when  social  cogs  turned  rusty,  could  never,  for 
his  life,  withhold  the  oil  of  pottering  talk. 

"  Be'n  down  to  the  old  shaker-bed  to  haul  out 
Kane's  wild  heifer ! "  he  explained  amicably. 
"  In  up  to  the  belly.  Hardly  stren'th  to  loo. 
Thin  as  a  rail,  though,  jumpin'  fences,  or  we 
never  could  ha'  stirred  her  without  tackle  an* 
falls.  Too  beat  out  to  be  driv'  home.  Kane 
hoppled  her  there.  Expect  the  Elder '11  be 
down  exhortin'  of  her  arter  dark." 

The  Elder  smiled  a  little  and  went  on.  But 
Eph  nudged  Luke  and  gave  him  the  wink  of 
comradeship.  "  Say,"  he  volunteered,  in  genial 
acceptance  of  confirming  testimony,  "d'ye 
know  Sally  Horner  's  up  an'  round  ? " 

Luke  nodded.     He  was  hungry  for  news. 

"There's  Joan!"  cried  Eph  joyously.  He 
saw  no  reason  why  curiosity  should  go  unslaked. 
"  Now  you  up  an'  ask  her.  She  's  got  suthin* 
to  say." 

But  Luke  stood  still,  sick  at  that  moment 
from  the  clarity  of  afternoon  sunlight ;  it  left 
no  dark  to  hide  in.  He  looked  down  into  the 


KING'S   END  171 

dusty  road,  and  absently  shuffled  his  feet,  as  a 
boy  does  when  the  world  confronts  him.  Joan 
paused  at  the  gate.  The  sun,  lying  on  her  red 
hair,  her  shrewd  face,  and  arms  bare  to  the 
elbow,  turned  her  into  a  messenger  of  good ; 
but  Luke,  even  if  he  had  looked  at  her,  had  no 
heart  for  wise  interpreting. 

"  Come  along  in  an'  see  her,"  she  called,  and 
Eph  gave  him  a  seconding  push.  Luke  shook 
his  head.  Hysterical  passion  was  rising  in  him  ; 
he  knew  how  much  more  likely  it  was  that  he 
should  be  bidden  to  look  upon  the  child  dead 
than  living.  "  They  called  the  new  doctor,  the 
one  over  to  Ryde,"  said  Joan  satirically.  "  A 
little  white  stuff  in  two  tumblers,  an'  a  clean 
spoon  for  each  !  It 's  like  the  water  o*  Glaskie, 
it  neither  smells  nor  tastes.  But  the  fever's 
gone  down  ;  I  '11  say  that  for  him." 

Luke  gained  a  momentary  courage.  His  dry 
lips  moved. 

"  Then  she  ain't  "  —  he  faltered. 

"Ain't  what?" 

"  I  thought  she  must  be  dead." 

"  You  thought !  "  Joan  raged,  in  scornful 
kindliness.  "  You  'd  think  anything  to  be  on 
t'other  side  o'  the  fence.  She  looks  more  or 
less  like  a  baby  now.  If  I  'd  had  my  way,  I  'd 
set  her  up  for  a  scarecrow,  the  style  you  fixed  her. 


172  KING'S   END 

Come  in  an'  look  at  her,  an1  drink  down  a  cup 
o'  tea.  Mis'  Horner  's  so  tickled  she  'd  break 
bread  with  the  devil." 

But  Luke  set  forth  at  a  quickened  step  up 
the  hill.  He  passed  the  Elder  with  averted 
face,  set  on  betraying  none  of  that  fierce  joy 
within  him.  "Only  let  her  be!"  he  kept 
whispering  to  the  unknown  God ;  and  so  he 
hurried  on  to  his  shelter,  as  remote  from  all  that 
homely  life  below  as  an  eagle's  nest  in  the  top 
of  the 'great  pine  —  and  as  lonesome. 


VII 

AFTER  tragedy  is  well  over,  the  real  agony 
begins.  When  the  desolate  house  looks  about 
on  its  own  nakedness,  then  is  the  true  inventory 
of  loss.  Luke  sat  that  night  in  his  little  kitchen 
and,  staring  at  the  moonlight  on  the  floor,  shud- 
dered at  life  as  it  was  and  as  it  would  be  to-mor- 
row. He  saw  only  one  thing,  like  a  face  filling 
up  the  darkness.  His  lips  had  no  name  for  it, 
but  the  defeated  soul  called  it  destiny.  This 
house  had  seen  his  beginning:  two  muddy 
streams  of  hateful  ancestry  tending  together 
and  mingling  in  one  blacker  still.  His  mother, 
a  crystal  current,  had  been  swept  on  unnoted, 
and  his  father,  shamelessly  acquiescent,  reflected 
all  the  vices  of  squalid  forbears.  Luke  lifted 
his  hands,  in  their  fancied  fetters,  and  would  have 
clenched  them  in  the  face  of  the  Power  that  first 
created  and  then  tortured  him.  But  he  dared 
not.  The  Power  might  slay  the  child.  At  times 
he  remembered  Nancy,  though  not  to  mourn  for 
her  as  a  man  in  health  mourns  his  defeated 
hopes.  The  cruelty  of  her  repulse  had  ranged 


174  KING'S   END 

her  with  his  enemies.  Her  refusal  was  not 
what  any  man  has  a  right  to  expect  from  the 
woman  he  loves  in  vain,  and  he  felt  still  the 
lashing  of  her  inherited  scorn.  He  knew,  as 
he  sat  there,  that  the  moment  of  her  recoil 
from  him  was  the  one  when  he  had  given  up. 
He  had  made  a  fair  trial  of  life,  and  it  was  not 
for  him.  Here  he  was,  sober,  hard-working, 
and  yet  a  Larrups.  Because  he  had  been 
neither  rich  nor  religious,  and  most  of  all  because 
his  stream  was  muddied  at  the  fount,  he  must 
serve  and  get  no  wages  out  of  life.  His  tortu- 
ous way  led  back  to  the  mysterious  wrong  of 
having  himself  been  born ;  for  he  knew  these 
country  folk  were  not  impressed  by  money,  nor 
greatly  through  church  membership.  Still  they 
did  prize  honest  stock.  So  the  old  sore  festered 
in  him,  and  again  he  told  himself  that  life  was 
done. 

The  room  darkened  like  an  omen,  as  the  moon 
went  under  a  cloud,  and  he  sickened  at  its  lone- 
liness. So  used  was  he  to  the  child's  light 
movements,  that  he  began  to  listen  for  breath- 
ing in  the  dark.  Walls  were  hateful  to  him. 
He  took  his  gun  from  the  corner,  and  crept  out 
into  the  night.  Yet  he  was  not  alone.  All  the 
phantoms  of  the  place  pursued  him.  While  he 
stood  outside,  the  heavens  brightened.  It  was 


KING'S   END  175 

one  of  those  nights  when  clouds  fleet  over  a 
clear  sky,  and  alternately  obscure  the  moon  or 
are  dyed,  by  her  witchery,  rainbow-ringed.  He 
paused  on  his  way  downhill  and  looked  back 
at  the  little  house :  for  something  told  him  he 
should  never  see  it  again.  His  farewell  to  it 
was  included  in  the  greater  farewell  to  life  itself. 
Then,  heavy  under  his  load  of  failure,  he  walked 
on,  his  gun  over  his  shoulder  and  his  brain  per- 
plexed. He  meant  to  seek  the  "  open  door,"  so 
hospitable  to  souls  distraught,  but  he  was  clumsy 
about  the  way.  These  country  people  despised 
the  man  who  takes  his  own  life ;  almost  as  well, 
thought  they,  to  be  a  murderer  as  a  suicide.  He 
was  resolved  to  die  by  his  own  hand,  yet  he 
wanted  to  die  cleverly,  as  if  by  accident.  For 
there  was  the  child.  If  she  lived,  no  one  should 
point  and  whisper,  "  Her  mother  "  —  the  voice 
would  fall  there.  "  Her  father  killed  himself." 
So  he  held  his  old  fowling-piece  closer  and  went 
on,  confused. 

The  Eliot  house  lay  dark.  One  glance  told 
him  that,  and  he  walked  by  without  turning  his 
head  again.  He  thought  there  was  a  murmur 
of  women's  voices  from  the  steps,  and  he  strode 
the  faster.  If  he  should  meet  Nancy  now,  he 
could  not  look  at  her.  If  she  held  out  her  hand, 
he  would  not  speak.  She  was  a  part  of  the 


176  KING'S   END 

world  where  he  ate  and  slept,  but  where  he  had 
no  right  of  holding.  At  the  Homers'  he  walked 
softly,  and  scanned  the  windows  with  an  anxious 
care.  The  two  front  rooms  were  dark,  and  a 
little  glimmer  of  light  diffused  itself  delicately 
from  the  back  of  the  house,  where  a  kitchen 
lamp  was  burning.  Luke  caught  himself  shak- 
ing all  over  as  he  stood  there,  till  a  certain  note 
arose  and  pierced  him  with  delight :  the  baby's 
crying.  It  sounded  far  less  piteous ;  it  was 
even  masterful. 

"  Little  devil ! "  he  muttered  admiringly. 

The  kitchen  lamp  came  into  the  sitting-room, 
and  with  it  old  Mrs.  Horner's  head  silhouetted 
against  the  light.  She  bent  over  the  cradle, 
and  he  could  see  her  swaying  it  back  and  forth. 
"  Joan,  you  come  in  here  an'  help  lift  her  up," 
he  heard  her  call. 

Joan,  hanging  her  milkpails  on  the  stakes, 
chose,  instead,  to  walk  around  the  side  of  the 
house,  and  down  the  path  to  the  road.  "  Stop 
where  ye  be ! "  she  ordered,  as  Luke  was  moving 
on.  "  News  from  the  front."  He  waited,  and 
Joan  came  up  to  him,  pulling  down  her  sleeves. 
" Glory  be  to  God!  the  boot  's  on  t'other 
foot,"  said  she.  "  I  Ve  hung  round  the  moun- 
tain long  enough,  listenin'  for  that  little  pint  o' 
cider,  an'  now  you  can  take  your  turn.  Livin'  's 


KING'S  END  177 

nothin'  but  a  teeter-board  :  first  you  go  up  and 
then  it 's  me.  Comin'  in  ? " 

"No." 

"  I  s'pose  not.  If  anybody  told  ye  not  to, 
you  'd  break  in  an'  take  root.  Oh,  she  holds 
her  own  !  She 's  got  too  much  father  an'  grand- 
mother in  her  to  peter  out.  But  it 's  the  great- 
est go-round  for  a  teethin'  this  county  ever  see. 
It  '11  be  in  the  almanac  another  year.  What 
you  got  that  gun  for  ? " 

This,  he  knew,  was  his  chance  for  some  plaus- 
ible story  which  should  account  for  him  after- 
wards. But  he  did  not  know  what  story.  "  I 
thought  I  'd  take  it  along,"  he  said  lamely.  "  I 
thought  maybe  I  'd  go  on  the  tramp." 

"  Tramp !  you  tramp  home  an'  go  to  bed,  an* 
open  the  shop  to-morrer.  Law !  I  should  think 
life  was  a  mile  long,  the  way  you  squander  it, 
runnin'  'round  with  your  head  cut  off.  Tramp  ! 
which  way  you  goin'  ?  " 

Chiefly  because  the  words  were  in  his  mem- 
ory, he  answered,  "Over  t'  the  shaker-bed. 
Likely  's  not  that  heifer's  loose,  by  now." 

The  heifer  was  not  Joan's  business,  nor,  since 
he  rejected  her  counsel,  was  he.  So  she  gave  a 
glance  at  the  moon,  quite  as  if  she  were  on  equal 
terms  with  it,  remarked,  "  Nice,  ain't  it  ?  Light 
as  cork  !  "  and  returned  to  the  house. 


i;8  KING'S  END 

Luke,  only  because  chance  had  marked  out 
his  way,  wandered  through  the  field  to  the  low- 
land pasture,  significant  from  the  bog  with  its 
treacherous  acre  where  more  than  one  beast  had 
been  snared.  King's  End  said  the  shaker-bed 
had  no  bottom.  For  the  accepted  chronicle  of 
the  place,  you  might  ask  any  boy  old  enough  to 
talk  and  swap  stories.  An  inherited  set  of  le- 
gends followed  it  to  the  centre  of  the  earth,  where 
victims  lay,  all  neatly  packed  in  one  big  pyramid. 
Now  it  was  drawing  Luke,  not  only  by  its  eeri- 
ness,  but  from  the  wealth  of  that  dark  legendry. 
If  he  should  never  be  seen  again,  Joan  would 
tell  how  he  went  down  to  the  shaker-bed  to 
look  after  the  heifer.  And  he  need  not  be  found  ; 
for,  faithful  to  his  traditions,  he  knew  the  bog 
had  no  bottom,  as  indubitably  as  he  knew  it 
twenty  years  before.  To  be  dragged  under,  by 
that  invisible  force,  was  still  a  horror  beyond  his 
tolerating ;  but,  with  his  arms  free,  he  could  use 
his  old  shooting-piece,  even  though  the  slimy 
trap  had  him  by  the  feet  —  and  then  the  earth, 
in  enemy  to  the  last,  would  clutch  him  to  his 
burial.  The  theory  worked  quite  simply :  so 
simply  that  it  read  like  a  story  about  some  one 
else  whose  griefs  were  long  since  over. 

He  climbed  the  fence,  and  broke  through  the 
skirting  alders  and  the  lighter  growth  of  the 


KING'S   END  179 

lowland.  Then  suddenly  he  seemed  to  fall  into 
a  dream.  For  a  voice  called  him  by  his  name. 

"  Luke  i  "  it  sounded,  and  again,  "  Luke  ! 
Luke ! " 

He  stood  still,  and  the  brush  about  him  trem- 
bled to  rest  where  he  had  stirred  it.  The  moon 
sailed  into  a  space  of  blue,  and  her  revealing  was 
more  terrible  than  the  dark.  •"  Luke !  "  rang  the 
voice.  "  Luke !  "  The  tremor  of  fear  crawled 
over  him,  spine  and  scalp,  and  moved  the  hair 
upon  his  head.  He  heard,  in  his  own  mind,  like 
an  attendant  echo,  the  words  from  an  old  story: 
"  Saul,  Saul,  why  persecutest  thou  me  ? "  They 
made  him  aware  that,  not  for  the  child  but  for 
himself,  he  feared  the  unknown  God. 

A  long,  sharp  bellow  cut  the  air,  and  he  al- 
most cried  out  with  it,  though  next  moment 
he  swore  at  himself  and  broke  into  shamefaced 
laughter.  It  was  the  heifer,  calling  in  pain  or 
fright ;  and  upon  her  cry  came  the  voice  again, 
"  Luke !  Luke  Evans !  "  Now  he  breathed 
again,  and  for  a  childish  reason  ;  for  some  inner 
sense  told  him  that  though  God  might  summon 
him  as  Luke,  surnames  were  unknown  in  the 
court  of  heaven. 

"  Oh,  you  everlastin'  old  fool ! "  he  yelled  in 
answer,  and  started  on  a  run.  His  death -hunger 
lay  behind,  cast  by  as  the  swimmer  throws  cff 


i8o  KING'S   END 

weight.  The  Elder  was  in  trouble.  The  slope 
grew  thick  with  rankest  grass,  and  plunging 
down,  Luke  halted  at  the  bog.  The  preacher 
was  singing  now,  — 

"  All  hail  the  power  of  Jesus'  name," 

but  the  words  came  huskily,  and  Luke  knew 
why.  He  saw,  in  fancy,  the  mud  up  to  the  old 
man's  chin. 

"  Hush  up !  "  he  cried.  "  Stop  that,  an'  tell 
me  where  you  be ! " 

But  the  Elder  adjured  him  to  "Bring  forth 
the  royal  diadem,"  and  then,  after  a  triumphant 
slur  on  "  Lord  of  all,"  replied  cheerfully,  "  In 
the  shaker-bed." 

"  Which  side  ?  This  damn  moon  won't  be  out 
for  a  fortnight." 

The  shuddering  bellow  rent  the  air  again,  and 
Luke,  running  at  random,  put  his  hand  on  the 
heifer's  flank.  He  felt  her  over,  while  she  pulled 
away  from  him,  unable  to  free  herself.  He 
made  out  that  she  had  broken  from  her  tether 
on  the  higher  ground  above,  and,  with  her  head 
tied  down  as  they  had  left  her,  had  either  fallen 
or  plunged  here,  and  caught  herself  again  in  a 
trap  of  her  own  making ;  for  she  had  trailed  the 
rope  into  a  group  of  alders,  and  now  her  head 
was  close  to  the  ground,  where  she  snorted 


KING'S   END  181 

in  misery.  He  tugged  at  the  rope  and  sawed 
at  it  with  his  old  jackknife;  again  he  pulled 
desperately,  and  when  it  parted,  she  stood 
silent  an  instant  over  incredible  liberty,  and 
then,  bounding  up  the  slope,  went  breaking  and 
crackling  through  the  woods.  And  he  had  the 
rope,  though  threaded  yet  through  the  alders. 

"  Where  'd  you  get  in  ? "  he  called,  listening 
as  he  worked.  "  Horner  side  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  How  deep  ? " 

"  I  don't  rightly  know." 

Luke  had  a  length  of  rope,  and  coiled  it  over 
his  arm.  "  Why  under  heavens  can't  you  speak 
up  ? "  he  cried.  "  What  do  you  want  to  mumble 
so  for?" 

"I  can't  help  it.  My  mouth's  'most  in  the 
mud." 

"Lord  God!  you  ain't  in  up  to  there?  I 
can't  save  ye." 

"  My  body 's  free,"  said  the  Elder  encourag- 
ingly. "  It 's  my  legs  and  arms.  I  went  out  on 
the  boards." 

"  What  boards  ?  " 

"  Them  they  had  to  get  out  to  the  heifer  with. 
I  made  a  misstep.  I  came  down  on  all  fours." 

Meantime  Luke  was  trying  to  locate  him 
from  his  vantage  of  firmer  ground,  and  the  moon 


1 82  KING'S   END 

stayed  hidden.  But  the  boards  taught  him 
something,  and  he  began  walking  back  and 
forth,  skirting  the  bog,  until  his  foot  struck  a 
fence  rail.  That  was  the  beginning  of  the  track 
laid  that  afternoon.  He  tried  it,  feeling  his 
way ;  where  it  ended  he  found  another,  wider 
still.  "  Speak  again,  can't  ye  ? "  he  called. 

"Here." 

"  You  follered  the  boards  ? " 

"Yes,  and  fell  off'n  the  end,  either  where 
they  stop  or  where  they  went  under."  * 

Luke  set  his  steps  more  delicately.  The 
boards  had  sunken,  but  so  far,  he  could  feel 
them  below  the  mud. 

"Where  be  ye?" 
'"Here." 

The  voice  was  at  his  feet,  so  near  that  he 
reached  over,  groping  in  the  darkness ;  but  he 
touched  only  the  hateful  grass  of  the  bog.  Then 
the  moon  ran  out  into  an  ample  field  of  blue, 
and  he  saw  the  Elder,  his  body  and  the  back  of 
his  white  head.  The  revulsion  was  too  much. 
"You  ain't  in  the  shaker-bed  at  all,  blast  ye  !  " 
cried  he. 

"  I  can't  say  about  that,"  remarked  the  Elder 
into  the  grass.  "This  seems  to  answer  the 
same  purpose." 

Luke   stepped  into  the    mud  and  felt  its 


KING'S   END  183 

treachery.  It  did  answer  the  same  purpose. 
But  meantime  he  set  both  hands  under  the  old 
man's  armpits  and  lifted.  The  mud  sucked 
greedily  in  leaving,  and  the  captive  stood  up- 
right. But  Luke  himself  was  sinking.  His 
teeth  were  set ;  the  blood  surged  into  his  head 
and  seemed  to  settle  there.  One  after  the 
other  he  dragged  out  his  imprisoned  feet,  and 
floundered  back  on  the  boards  to  rest.  The 
Elder,  caked  in  mud,  stood  still,  as  if  he  chose 
that  footing. 

"  I  believe  I  am  going  down  very  fast,"  he 
announced  neutrally.  "  But  it  is  a  great  privi- 
lege to  go  feet  foremost." 

Luke  went  back  a  couple  of  yards,  and  ripped 
up  the  boards  that  were  not  entirely  hidden. 
He  laid  them  down  before  the  old  man,  in  a 
rude  flooring,  and  tossed  him  the  rope. 

"  Put  it  under  your  arms,"  he  ordered.  "  Cast 
me  the  ends.  I  can't  git  no  sort  o'  purchase 
on  ye,  but  I  '11  pull  straight  ahead.  You  let 
your  hands  come  down  on  them  boards,  an' 
crawl  like  the  devil.  Push  down  an'  lift  your- 
self out'n  the  mud.  I  '11  pull." 

For  a  time  they  strove  uselessly.  There  was 
a  moment  when  Luke  saw  that  the  present 
unclassified  trap  was  too  much  for  him.  He 
groaned,  and  at  that  instant  the  Elder,  his 


184  KING'S   END 

elbows  on  the  boards,  first  seemed  to  move. 
Luke  ventured  a  step,  trying  the  rails,  and  be- 
cause they  still  gave  a  foothold  he  put  his  hands 
under  the  old  man's  arms,  and  lifted.  Desper- 
ate, panting,  both  of  them,  he  pulled  the  Elder 
to  his  feet,  and  turned  him  toward  dry  land. 

"Git  along  ahead,"  he  gasped.  "These 
boards  won't  bear  two.  Gorry  !  I  should  think 
they  took  down  all  the  fencin'-stuff  from  here 
to  Ryde.  Lucky  for  you !  Git  along." 

Once  the  Elder  fell,  but  Luke,  without  wait- 
ing for  him  to  recover  himself,  set  him  on  his 
feet  again,  and,  putting  a  muddy  arm  about 
him,  urged  him  on.  They  struck  the  damp, 
coarse  grass  and  climbed  the  little  slope.  The 
Elder  was  weighted  with  mud.  Even  his  back 
carried  its  own  particular  plaster,  where  Luke 
had  touched  him.  He  tried  to  shake  himself, 
and  stooped  for  a  futile  scraping  with  a  grimy 
hand;  but  Luke  only  picked  up  his  gun  and 
pushed  him  onward.  They  climbed  the  fence 
and  crossed  the  field  without  a  word.  Opposite 
the  Horner  house,  Luke  stopped  again  to  listen 
for  that  sound  to  which  his  ears  were  ever  now 
attuned.  Darkness  and  silence :  the  baby  was 
asleep.  At  the  Eliots',  Elder  Kent  stretched 
out  his  hand  and  began  solemnly,  "  Under 
God  "  —  But  Luke  allowed  him  no  delay. 


KING'S   END  185 

"Come  along  up  to  my  place,"  he  com- 
manded. "  I  '11  hoe  you  off  while  you  hoe  me. 
You  don't  want  to  go  stirrin'  women  folks  up 
this  time  o'  night." 

The  Elder,  with  a  thought  of  Julia,  new  to 
him  since  he  had  begun  to  think  of  her  at  all, 
agreed  quite  gratefully,  and  they  plodded  along 
the  road,  all  a-light  now  under  the  moon.  Once 
on  the  mountain  slope,  in  the  shadow  of  a  pine 
Luke  was  never  after  able  to  pass  without  think- 
ing of  this  moment,  he  began  to  laugh.  He 
laughed  with  all  the  accumulated  hysteria  of  his 
former  grief.  Tears  coursed  down  his  muddy 
face  and  washed  pale  channels  there.  He  hooted 
grotesquely,  and  the  echoes  made  reply.  The 
Elder  paid  little  heed  to  that  interlude,  for 
he  was  thinking  his  own  thoughts,  and  trea- 
suring very  sacredly  some  truths  he  thought 
God  had  shown  him  in  the  bog. 

"  Oh,  you  old  Nebuchadnezzar! "  cried  Luke, 
between  yells  of  reminiscence.  "  Down  on  all 
fours,  eatin'  grass  !  What  ye  there  for,  any- 
way?" 

"  They  said  the  heifer  was  there,  hoppled.  I 
thought  maybe  she  'd  come  to  some  harm,  and 
then  I  heard  her  loo.  Seemed  to  me  I  saw  her 
in  the  bog.  There  was  a  black  thing  out  that 
way." 


186  KING'S   END 

"  That 's  the  old  stump  the  boys  hove  in 
there,  three  years  ago,  to  show  where  the  bog 
begun.  So  you  follered  out  the  boards,  an' 
tumbled  off,  an'  the  heifer  looin'  on  dry  land 
behind  ye !  Lucky  you  floundered  'round  face 
to  afore  ye  sunk.  That 's  the  only  way  I  could 
ha'  fetched  it." 

He  set  down  his  gun  at  the  door,  and  went  in 
to  strike  a  light.  The  Elder,  from  prudential 
reasons,  remained  outside,  looking  at  the  bright 
heaven,  his  lips  still  moving.  Luke  was  build- 
ing a  fire.  He  set  on  the  wash-boiler,  well 
filled,  and  when  the  water  was  warm,  poured 
it  into  a  tub  outside  the  door,  and  bade  the 
Elder  take  his  boots  off  and  step  in.  With  the 
instinct  of  a  primitive  yet  thorough  house- 
keeper, he  thought  it  simpler  to  clean  man  and 
clothes  together.  The  old  man  stood  quite 
patiently  a-soak,  and  Luke  attacked  him  with  a 
broom.  No  horse  was  ever  gentler  under  cur- 
rying. 

"  It 's  a  good  thing  we  don't  always  have  our 
way,"  remarked  the  Elder.  "  Brother  Winthrop, 
over  to  Ryde,  gave  me  a  new  black  suit,  and 
very  well  fitting,  too.  I  told  Julia  it  should  go 
into  the  missionary  box,  but  nothing  would  do 
but  I  must  leave  it  at  Susan  Eliot's  till  we  came 
back  some  day.  She  said  I  should  need  it  in 
time,  and  lo  ye !  I  do." 


KING'S   END  187 

They  heated  more  water,  and  the  Elder  dis- 
carded the  mud-stained  garments  and  left  them 
to  dry,  while  he  took  a  bath  and  put  on  Luke's 
overalls  and  jumper.  Then  Evans  tubbed  in 
his  turn,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  steam- 
ing hot  and  clean,  they  sat  down  outside  the 
door,  while  one  smoked  a  pipe  and  the  other 
owned  that  tobacco  had  a  goodly  flavor.  Luke 
went  into  the  house  for  an  extra  T  D,  but  the 
Elder  shook  his  head,  though  he  fingered  the 
smooth  bowl  abstractedly.  It  had  a  pleasant 
feel.  Coffee  was  boiling  on  the  stove,  and  the 
fragrance  floated  out  to  them.  Luke  took  his 
pipe  from  his  lips  and  turned  to  the  old  man. 

"  When  you  was  stuck  there,  you  called  me," 
said  he.  "  What  made  you  call  my  name  ? " 

The  Elder  considered.  "  I  don't  know,"  he 
said,  at  last.  "  I  thought  of  Julia.  I  knew  she  'd 
be  put  about.  Then  I  thought  of  you.  So  I 
called  you." 

"Godfrey!"  said  Luke.  For  some  reason 
the  answer  pleased  him  mightily.  He  smoked 
hard  till  the  pipe  rattled  in  its  throat.  Then 
he  threw  it  down.  "  Le'  s  have  some  coffee." 

They  drank  together,  and  lay  down  within, 
Evans  taking  his  own  bed  and  his  guest  the 
kitchen  lounge.  Luke  was  at  peace,  and  nat- 
urally, he  thought,  because  he  was  so  tired. 


188  KING'S   END 

His  body  had  fought  a  good  fight  and  then 
laughed  itself  free  of  inky  fears ;  so  it  ran  into 
a  rhythm  of  well-being.  He  heard  the  old  man 
murmuring  to  himself,  and  smiled  scoffingly,  yet 
with  tenderness.  John  Kent  "  needed  a  guard- 
een,"  he  thought ;  and  muttering  "  Old  Neb- 
uchadnezzar ! "  he  was  drowsing  off  to  sleep. 

"  Luke,"  said  the  Elder. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  now  ? " 

"  When  I  thought  I  had  but  a  few  minutes 
more  on  earth,  God  showed  me  what  to  do." 

"  He  better  ha'  showed  ye  beforehand.  Ye 
need  n't  ha'  got  in." 

"He  told  me  not  to  fear,  to  preach  the  word 
as  I  saw  it,  and  let  the  seed  fall  where  it  would. 
The  words  should  be  put  into  my  mouth  "  — 

"  Put  into  your  mouth  !  It  don't  take  God 
A'mighty  to  tell  you  what  to  holler.  '  Luke ! ' 
you  yelled,  like  a  poll-parrot.  *  Luke !  Luke ! ' 
says  you,  '  Luke  Evans  ! ' ' 

"  And  you  came,"  concluded  the  Elder.  "  If 
you  were  n't  sent,  why  did  you  come  ? " 

"  Oh,  moonshine !  I  'm  goin'  to  sleep."  But 
his  eyes  were  set  wide  open.  He  lay  and 
thought,  and  when  he  heard  the  Elder's  peace- 
ful breathing  he  smiled  a  little,  and  softly  called 
him  by  unflattering  names. 


VIII 

DAY  was  dawning  on  a  world  all  over  flame 
and  dew.  The  mountain-side  bloomed  purple 
under  vestiges  of  mist.  The  fields  were  rich 
in  heat  and  light.  They  had  already  begun  to 
ripen.  Dewdrops  lay  on  the  Cumnor  pasture, 
so  close  that,  like  gems  for  a  mosaic,  they  were 
ready  to  slide  together  into  a  crystal  sheen. 
They  were  threaded  on  the  pasture  grass  and 
bobbing  from  its  blossoms.  They  clotted  on 
the  spiders'  webs  hung  everywhere  to  dry. 
Julia  was  hurrying  home  along  the  trail.  Every 
footstep  wiped  out  scores  of  little  water-worlds, 
each  with  its  spark  of  sun ;  but  she  did  not 
heed. 

Her  eyes  were  unseeing,  save  for  the  cob- 
webs. These  she  noted  because  they  prophe- 
sied heat,  and  she  knew  there  would  not  be  air 
enough  in  all  the  summer  world  for  one  sick 
man  to  breathe.  A  white-throated  sparrow 
began  from  the  mountain-side  the  fine  thrill 
of  his  overture,  never  to  be  continued  beyond 
those  first  arresting  notes.  She  did  not  listen. 


190  KING'S   END 

The  pines  were  austere  in  green,  moved  mur- 
murously  by  a  delicate  breath,  and  the  sky, 
more  blue  than  white,  hung  sweetly  dappled. 
But  Julia  held  her  skirts  high  and  stepped  on, 
wondering  if  breakfast  would  be  ready.  Her 
vigil  had  lasted  now  too  long  ;  she  was  hollow- 
eyed  yet  hawkish,  with  the  look  of  those  at  odds 
with  sleep.  This  last  night  had  been  a  deadly 
one  of  impotent  watching,  and  against  her 
custom  she  had  lurked  and  suffered  until  dawn. 
Then  he  revived  a  little,  and  she  heard  the 
doctor  predicting  one  more  day. 

The  Eliot  household  was  up  and  about,  and 
Susan,  seeing  her  come  in,  remarked  only  on 
the  "soppin'  "  of  her  feet.  It  was  so  common 
a  thing  for  the  Elder  to  slip  away  into  the 
dusk,  not  to  be  seen  until  another  day,  that 
Susan  could  tolerate  that  eccentricity  in  one  of 
the  same  blood.  Julia,  too,  might  have  chosen 
to  seek  the  spirit  on  the  mountain,  and  fare 
homeward  through  the  dew.  But  Nancy,  see- 
ing the  ever  deepening  marks  of  grief  upon  her 
face,  followed  her  upstairs  and  stood  silent  while 
the  old  woman  made  herself  neat  again.  Julia 
shook  her  head. 

"  He  ain't  gone,"  she  said,  in  a  harsh  mono- 
tone. "  He  's  holding  out  terribly.  I  've  got 
to  go  back." 


KING'S   END  191 

"I  should  go  back,"  cried  Nancy,  taught 
some  things  now  by  an  unsatisfied  heart.  "  I 
should  go  in." 

Julia  nodded.  She  could  speak  no  more,  and 
afterwards  sat  silent  over  her  food,  forcing  it 
down  with  a  sickening  distaste.  "  I  'm  going 
over  to  the  Hills',"  she  said  to  Susan,  when  they 
rose.  "  Maybe  I  can  do  something." 

"So  do,"  returned  Susan,  "if  you  feel  to. 
I  'd  ha'  gone  myself,  on'y  I  thought  they  'd 
have  so  much  help.  He  's  holdin'  out  beyond 
everything." 

It  was  Nancy  who  shrank  and  shivered,  for 
fear  some  unconsidered  speech  might  rough  a 
wound.  Her  mother  might  guess  how  Julia 
and  Stuart  Hill  had  loved  each  other  in  old 
days,  and  with  the  simplicity  of  the  unimagina- 
tive mind  bring  forth  some  innocent  tale  con- 
nected with  the  dead.  But  Julia  guessed  at 
no  such  poor  disaster.  The  unripe  blossom  of 
her  life  had  faded  so  long  before,  that  not  a 
husk  was  left.  She  was  denied  even  the  inher- 
itance of  a  common  memory  shared  by  those 
who  had  known  her  in  her  youth.  To  this  little 
people  she  was  only  an  old  woman  offering  a 
gnarled  hand  to  lift  an  ounce  or  so  in  a  poor, 
weighted  world.  And  lately,  life  itself  —  all 
life  —  had  changed.  The  great  things  loomed 


192  KING'S   END 

greater.  The  little  things  had  sunk  away  of 
their  own  poverty.  Even  this  masquerading  in 
the  dusk  seemed  trivial,  for  day  by  day  her 
instinct  of  hiding  had  grown  dull.  She  won- 
dered why  she  had  not  sought  his  side  before, 
and  then  reminded  herself  how  it  would  have 
perplexed  him,  and  dizzied  his  poor  brain  with 
futile  strivings. 

So,  with  hair  put  back  as  smoothly  as  her 
locks  would  ever  lie,  her  decent  dress  and  well- 
starched  apron,  she  went  over  to  the  great 
house  and  rang  the  bell.  To  the  neighbor  who 
met  her,  old  Julia  seemed  no  figure  of  grief, 
only  a  kindly  soul  with  time  to  spare. 

"  I  thought  I  'd  come  over  and  help  'round," 
she  said,  with  a  simple  directness.  "  I  've  been 
over  to  Susan  Eliot's  for  quite  a  spell,  but 
everything 's  done  up  there  now,  and  we  're 
ahead  of  the  work.  There  must  be  room  for 
one  more  here,  having  sickness  so." 

The  door  opened  to  her;  she  was  needed. 
Judge  Hill  had  been  "an  unconscionable  time 
in  dying,"  and  his  household  had  not  husbanded 
its  strength.  The  village  nurse  was  beginning 
the  day  with  a  sick  headache,  and  old  Miss 
Hill,  said  the  neighbor,  had  "taken  assafidity. 
Miss  Hill  was  beat  out.  She  did  n't  know  how 
she  should  get  through  the  forenoon.  Perhaps 


KING'S   END  193 

if  Miss  Julia  'd  sit  with  the  Judge  while  Miss 
Hill  got  a  wink  o'  sleep !  " 

So  the  woman  led  her  into  the  sick-room, 
where  his  sister  was  alone  with  him.  Miss  Hill 
gave  her  a  kindly  hand-touch,  and  then  beck- 
oned her  to  the  door  where  they  could  talk. 
"You're  real  thoughtful,"  said  she.  "If  I 
could  only  get  a  mite  of  a  nap !  Doctor  says 
he  may  last  the  day  out." 

"  I  '11  be  glad  to  stay,"  said  Julia  quietly. 
She  dared  not  look  them  in  the  face.  The 
robust  joy  of  her  own  soul  might  speak  aloud. 
"  I  have  n't  got  a  thing  in  the  world  to  do.  I  '11 
call  you,  if  there  's  any  need." 

And,  incredibly  beautiful,  marvelous  beyond 
all  fancy,  she  was  left  with  her  own  old  love 
and  the  fruition  of  the  years.  There  was  no- 
thing to  do  for  him  save  to  be  his  guard  of 
honor  to  the  gate,  where  he  would  meet  that 
potentate  known  only  as  a  name.  Now  it 
seemed  futile  even  to  wet  his  lips.  No  life  was 
left  for  cherishing:  only  the  likeness  of  life. 
Once  his  eyelids  quivered  and  lifted  slightly, 
too  weak  to  close.  Then  she  thought  how  dark 
it  must  be  to  him,  with  the  death-dusk  gather- 
ing also.  They  had  curtained  the  windows  to 
a  decent  gloom.  Silently  she  undid  their  work 
and  let  in  all  the  light  of  day.  Something 


I94  KING'S   END 

else  came  with  it :  a  gush  of  the  singing  of 
birds.  Through  that  presaging  dark,  the  same 
notes  had  been  sounding  with  a  shadowy  pain. 
Now  they  were  full  and  sweet,  like  bells  un- 
muffled.  She  took  her  place  again,  and  closed 
her  fingers  softly  about  his,  knowing  how  the 
dying  hand  loves  to  cling,  long  as  it  can,  to 
some  palm  of  earth.  Once  the  neighbor  came 
in,  and  looked  in  wonder  at  the  flooding  light. 

"  He  wants  it  so,"  murmured  Julia. 

"I  don't  believe  he's  conscious,"  began  the 
woman ;  but  Julia  slipped  her  hand  from  that 
poor  chilling  one,  and  drew  the  intruder  with 
her  from  the  room. 

"  Don't  you  say  a  word  for  him  to  notice," 
she  commanded,  with  dignity.  "  We  think  they 
can't  hear.  How  do  we  know  what  they  hear  ? 
Don't  you  wake  anybody  up,  either.  I  could 
sit  there  till  night." 

But  the  old  man  did  not  linger.  His  face 
grew  thin,  as  if  mortality  went  the  way  of  visi- 
ble dissolution.  It  took  on  an  ineffable  auster- 
ity. His  breaths  were  baby  breaths,  a  whisper 
in  the  throat.  Now  Julia  laid  her  cheek  beside 
his  on  the  pillow,  listening  and  loving.  They 
breathed  there  together,  she  in  an  ecstasy  living 
the  life  of  two,  and  he  —  perhaps  his  spirit 
waked  unseen  beside  her.  The  old  clock  in  the 


KING'S   END  195 

corner  rang  its  eleven  strokes,  and  her  heart 
quickened.  It  seemed  a  challenge  of  time,  call- 
ing him  forth  again  to  earthly  hours  and  days. 
"  Come  now,"  it  cried,  "  or  else  forever 
after"  — 

The  last  stroke  trembled  like  a  thread  of 
sound.  The  room  was  very  still.  Julia  knew 
without  assurance  that  the  last  act  —  so  great 
and  yet  so  simple  —  was  accomplished.  The 
knowledge  brought  a  terror  and  delight :  it 
seemed  as  if  she  too,  for  a  moment,  had  touched 
that  great  unchartered  freedom  of  the  soul. 
She  lifted  her  head  and  looked.  He  had  been 
motionless  before,  but  now  the  silence  cried 
aloud  of  its  own  potency.  It  —  that  ineffable 
and  august  being  outweighing  earth  and  seas  — 
had  withdrawn,  and  she  was  alone.  She  kissed 
him  on  the  forehead  and  closed  the  half-shut 
lids,  and  there,  in  a  moment,  they  found  her. 

"He 's  just  gone,"  she  said  sweetly,  smiling 
at  them,  —  "  just  gone."  Then  in  the  strange 
confusion  attending  such  departures,  she  slipped 
away  to  the  kitchen,  and  made  herself  so  useful 
there  that  she  could  ill  be  spared. 

So  she  stayed  for  the  two  nights  before  the 
funeral,  and  did  all  sorts  of  services,  things  that 
made  her  smile  :  though  not  in  the  least  bitterly 
now,  for  she  was  a  contented  woman,  and  the 


196  KING'S   END 

time  of  her  own  pilgrimage  seemed  very  short 
She  made  cake,  to  be  eaten  at  the  great  funeral 
supper.  She  washed  pyramids  of  dishes,  for 
relatives  came  from  the  towns  about,  and  there 
was  solemn  feasting.  And  in  the  silence  of  the 
night  she  slipped  into  the  dark  room  while  the 
watchers  drank  their  tea,  and  touched  the  dead 
man's  hair,  and  murmured  to  him. 

Judge  Hill  was  a  person  of  consequence,  and 
on  the  third  day  men  and  women  in  their  sober 
clothes  came  driving  in  from  all  the  county 
round.  Julia,  standing  at  the  kitchen  window, 
regarded  the  carriages  in  a  fine  worldly  satisfac- 
tion, and  held  her  head  high  over  his  futile 
triumph.  She  had  no  mourning  garments,  but 
she  brushed  her  little  worn  dress,  and  made 
herself  "  as  neat  as  wax."  Dust  never  clung 
to  her,  said  the  country  folk,  seeing  her  on  her 
tramps  ;  she  had  not  forgotten  the  observances 
of  gentlehood  because  she  lacked  the  soft  secu- 
rity of  place.  But  to-day  she  tied  over  her  bon- 
net the  figured  veil  wrought  by  her  mother 
years  and  years  ago,  and  always  packed  with 
her  own  traveling  gear.  That  was  all  she  could 
do  to  make  herself  unlike  the  Julia  of  the  work- 
ing world. 

At  two  o'clock  the  mourners  assembled  in 
the  great  parlor  about  the  man  they  came  to 


KING'S   END  197 

honor.  Neighbors  and  friends  were  in  the  sit- 
ting-room, and  a  line  of  carriages  marked  out 
the  road  imposingly.  Almost  on  the  stroke 
came  Elder  Kent,  himself  no  less  dignified  than 
some  who  bore  the  guinea's  stamp.  Julia,  from 
her  window,  saw  him,  and  understood.  Her 
heart  beat  a  welcome  of  such  spontaneous  love 
as  it  had  never  known  in  her  unwilling  servitude. 
She  went  forward  through  the  hall  to  meet  him, 
and  he  smiled  upon  her,  and  took  her  hand. 
Then  the  other  minister,  the  settled  one,  began  : 
"  Man  that  is  born  of  a  woman  is  of  few  days  and 
full  of  trouble,"  and  the  two  old  people  stood 
there  in  the  sunlight,  clasping  hands  like  chil- 
dren, not  of  the  world  about  them,  yet  simple 
and  unabashed.  When  the  neighbors  and  friends 
went  tiptoeing  through,  to  look  once  more  upon 
the  dead,  the  two  still  stood  there,  cheerful  both 
as  the  sunshine  over  them.  The  halting  proces- 
sion moved  along  the  path,  a  sluggish  stream ; 
then,  the  brother  still  holding  his  sister's  hand, 
they  walked  behind  the  others  to  the  grave. 
This  had  been  made  in  the  little  family  lot  where 
all  the  Hills  lay  buried  ;  and  Julia  looked  about 
her  with  a  wonderful  sense  of  having,  after  de- 
vious ways,  come  home.  "  I  am  the  resurrec- 
tion and  the  life,"  read  the  preacher,  and  she 
felt  as  if  that  moment  might  always  last.  The 


198  KING'S   END 

benediction  came,  and  silence.  Now  there 
would  be  the  sound  of  clods  upon  a  coffin. 

"  Let 's  go,"  she  whispered,  and  the  Elder 
drew  her  out  of  the  yard  and  into  the  pasture 
trail.  Halfway  she  said  wonderingly,  "  I 
don't  seem  to  have  any  strength  !  "  but  when 
he  asked  if  she  would  rest,  she  shook  her  head 
and  smiled  at  him. 

The  house  was  empty  when  they  got  there, 
for  Susan  and  Aunt  Lindy  had  gone  to  the 
funeral,  and  Nancy  was  lying  out  in  the  field 
alone.  Julia  climbed  to  her  little  room,  and  the 
Elder  followed  her.  He  tried  to  take  off  her 
bonnet,  and  got  the  strings  into  a  hard  knot. 
Julia  laughed  a  little  at  that,  and  untied  them. 
Then  she  lay  down,  and  he  brought  a  quilt  from 
the  closet.  It  was  a  hot  summer  day,  but  anx- 
ious intelligence  taught  him  no  other  form  of 
ministry.  Julia  let  him  spread  it  to  her  chin, 
and  waited  till  he  had  gone  softly  down  the 
stairs  before  she  threw  it  off.  Then  she  lay 
thinking,  in  great  weariness,  but  with  her  happy 
vision  fixed  upon  the  splendor  of  the  soul.  She 
knew  she  had  passed  through  her  great  trial 
unscathed.  Not  even  the  strength  of  her  body 
was  really  sapped  by  these  nights  of  vigil  and 
days  of  bitter  retrospect.  Once  she  had  given 
up,  foolishly,  wastefully  perhaps ;  but  God  had 


KING'S   END  199 

not  let  her  suffer  that  last  and  keenest  pang  of 
withdrawing  her  beloved  in  her  absence.  Her 
life  had  blossomed,  after  all. 

The  Elder,  down  on  the  porch,  thinking, 
thinking,  with  his  ears  pricked  to  hear  a  sound 
from  her,  was  tasting,  too,  the  sweetness  in  a 
bitter  rind.  He  longed  to  go  back  and  whisper 
his  new  comfort  in  her  ear,  telling  her  that  grief 
had  no  meaning  save  as  a  heavenly  medicine. 
Yet  some  dissuading  wisdom  held  him  still.  At 
his  heart  he  envied  her  because  she  suffered  uni- 
versal pain.  Th  ese  were  the  simple  human  pangs 
and  glories  of  the  soul,  at  this  one  halting-place 
upon  an  infinite  way  —  and  they  were  good. 
They  brought  her  nearer  other  men  by  kinship 
only  than  he  could  ever  be  through  prayer  and 
prophecy.  Now,  almost  at  the  end  of  life,  he 
saw  the  face  of  nature  as  it  shows  the  face  of 
God,  and  set  dull  working  days  beside  eternal 
Sabbaths,  to  the  infinite  enrichment  of  them 
both.  He  began  dimly  to  suspect  what  loss  may 
lie  in  foregoing  mortal  blessedness,  even  for  a 
loftier  joy.  Yet  since  we  must  tread  the  way 
marked  out  for  us,  his  nature  returned  upon  its 
old,  old  track,  and  he  murmured  to  himself,  as 
he  had  so  long,  "  My  soul  hungers  and  thirsts 
after  the  living  God."  God  !  was  He  the  un- 
attainable ?  How  should  He  be  attained  ? 


IX 

THE  Pillcott  camp-meeting  had  gone  tumul- 
tuously  on  until  the  fifth  day  and  the  last.  All 
the  world  turned  out  from  Cumnor,  Ryde,  and 
King's  End,  and  there  had  been  great  harvest- 
ing of  souls.  Elder  Kent,  instead  of  mounting 
the  rude  platform  as  he  used  to  do,  stayed 
humbly  among  the  impenitent,  and  Luke  stayed 
with  him.  It  seemed  to  the  preacher  as  if  he 
had  a  child  under  his  charge,  and,  with  some 
intuition  of  Luke's  dependence  on  him,  he  dared 
not  ignore  it,  lest  the  outcast  slip  away  dis- 
couraged, and  defer  his  soul's  salvation.  For 
though  the  old  man  preached  no  longer  as  these, 
his  chosen  people  of  other  years,  were  bound  to 
preach,  he  looked  upon  them  with  a  wistful  faith. 
They  had  no  medicine  for  him,  but  they  had,  he 
knew,  for  many,  and  Luke  might  be  among 
them.  The  smoking  flax  must  not  be  quenched. 
He  would  utter  his  word  in  season,  but  meantime 
others  should  say  theirs.  He  had  a  pathetic 
care  of  Julia,  too.  She  was  busy  everywhere. 
People  went  to  her  for  all  sorts  of  things,  from 


KING'S   END  201 

coffee-making  to  the  loan  of  a  pin.  In  her  brief 
idleness  she  sat  within  the  shade,  far  from  the 
sound  of  prayer,  a  look  of  sweet  absorption  on 
her  face.  At  such  times,  the  Elder  would  seek 
her  out,  and  ask  wistfully,  — 

"  You  feeling  pretty  well  ?  " 

She  always  smiled  at  him  and  answered, 
"  Real  well.  I  'm  real  contented,  too." 

These  were  hot  days,  and  the  woods  exhaled 
a  resinous  sweetness  suffocating  in  the  nostrils. 
Certain  of  the  more  distant  towns  had  put 
up  tents,  and  carried  on  a  primitive  camping. 
Scattered  through  the  clearing  at  the  south 
were  smaller  tents,  erected  by  families,  and  day 
by  day,  those  who  lived  near  enough,  came  with 
their  luncheon  baskets  and  "  hitched  hosses  "  at 
a  distance.  The  ground  itself  lay  like  a  natural 
amphitheatre.  There  the  rude  seats  had  been 
built  and,  fronting  them,  the  platform  for  ex- 
horters.  On  this  last  day,  the  air  was  charged 
with  a  disturbance  even  more  palpable  than  that 
of  nature.  Nerves  had  been  woefully  strained  in 
the  annual  onslaught  upon  sin.  Renewed  souls 
were  exhausted  from  the  force  of  their  own 
battling,  and  even  the  saved  of  a  previous  con- 
version grew  fractious  under  the  necessity  of 
"  being  religious,"  the  while  they  packed  in  pre- 
paration for  going  home. 


202  KING'S   END 

Luke,  lingering  near  the  Cumnor  tent,  waiting 
for  the  Elder  to  leave  a  band  of  black-coated 
colleagues,  frowned  at  the  voices  of  women 
floating  out  upon  the  air.  He  caught  his  own 
name  and  a  fragment  of  his  own  story,  elemen- 
tary as  the  record  of  the  world  must  ever  be 
when  it  spells  the  alphabet  of  hearts. 

"  Big  Joan  won't  tell  how  '  t  was  nor  Sally  her- 
self. As  for  Obed,  you  can't  git  it  out  o'  him. 
But  all  is,  he  gi'n  the  baby  up  because  she  was 
teethin',  an'  he  thought  her  grandmother  could 
do  for  her.  An'  here  he  is.  On  the  anxious 
seat  last  night.  Didn't  you  see  him?  They 
kep'  at  him  till  nigh  twelve  o'clock,  an'  he  never 
yipped." 

"Well,  how  is  the  baby?" 

"  Oh,  the  baby 's  all  right !  Teeth  come  ter- 
rible early,  an'  she 's  been  real  sick ;  but  Mis' 
Horner  's  as  pleased  as  a  cat  with  two  tails. 
Now  think  o'  Sally  Horner  herself,  'round  the 
house  ag'in  as  large  as  life  an*  twice  as  nippin' ! 
Big  Joan  '11  have  to  carry  less  sail." 

"  Well,  I  guess  she  won't.  Nothin'  less  'n  an 
earthquake  '11  shake  up  Joan." 

"I  dunno.  Sally's  a  whole  team,  on'y  git 
her  started.  Think  of  all  that  time  she 's  laid 
there !  I  guess  she  '11  be  madder  'n  a  hornet 
when  she  comes  to  add  it  up.  All  the  doctors' 


KING'S   END  203 

trade  she 's  took,  too  !  My  soul,  if  I  'd  thought 
this  cheese  would  n't  ha'  been  eat,  I  never  'd  ha' 
brought  it." 

Then  the  Elder  appeared,  and  Luke  turned 
with  him  into  a  balmy  path  leading  to  a  spring 
they  both  knew  well.  Luke  took  off  his  hat 
and  pushed  the  hair  back  from  his  forehead. 
His  face  was  ivory  pale,  and  his  eyes  kept  a 
suspicious  outlook  upon  life.  "  I  don't  care  a 
damn  what  becomes  of  me,"  he  said. 

"  God  cares,"  returned  the  Elder,  with  sim- 
plicity. 

"God!     Who  is  He?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"  What 's  all  this  about  Jesus  Christ  ?  Do 
you  believe  it  ? " 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  believe." 

"  You  believe  you  '11  go  to  hell  if  you  don't 
say  you  believe  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  shall  be  in  hell  always,  till  I  turn 
my  face  towards  God." 

"  How  ? " 

"  Keep  saying  to  Him,  '  Make  me  do  what 
You  want  me  to  do.' " 

They  sat  down  by  the  spring,  and  Luke  took 
the  cocoanut  dipper  and  drank  deep  draughts. 
He  looked  up  at  the  burning  sky.  Great  piles 
of  thunderheads  filled  the  west,  and  their  pre- 


204  KING'S   END 

monition  beset  the  air.  He  hated  the  world 
and  the  way  it  was  made.  "  I  'm  in  hell  now," 
said  he. 

A  shadow  of  pain  crossed  the  Elder's  face. 
He  longed  for  the  exquisite  agony  of  human 
loss,  that  he  might  also  guess  where  the  root 
of  healing  grew.  Was  it  in  the  one  Christ 
alone  ?  Was  it  not  in  every  soul  who  chooses  to 
tread  the  sacred  way  of  pain  ? 

"  I  guess  you  are  in  hell,"  he  said.  "  But  you 
won't  be  there  a  minute  longer  than  God  wants 
you  should.  I  would  n't  pray  to  come  out.  I 
should  pray  God  to  tell  me  what  He  wants  me 
to  do  while  I  'm  there." 

Luke  rolled  over,  his  face  in  the  grass,  lying 
not  abased  but  suppliant  before  the  One  who 
had  not  yet  made  his  vision  clear.  Sometimes, 
an  old  habit  of  his  misery,  he  clutched  the  grass 
in  his  hand,  and  the  odor  of  pennyroyal  tinged 
the  air.  Once  the  Elder  would  have  lifted 
his  own  voice  in  ardent  supplication ;  now  the 
travail  of  souls  had  grown  too  sacred,  and  he 
dared  not  stir  the  waters  by  a  word.  He  had 
begun  to  learn  the  alphabet  of  the  great  pa- 
tience underlying  our  small  course  of  the  uni- 
versal plan.  Nature,  his  nurse,  had  been  teach- 
ing it  to  him  from  the  beginning,  and  only 
now  had  he  unstopped  his  ears  to  her.  She, 


KING'S   END  205 

the  great  spendthrift,  the  magnificent,  riots  in 
wastefulness.  She  would  as  eagerly  destroy  as 
make,  but  only  because  she  is  really  making. 
A  seed  is  planted.  It  dies.  Another  falls,  and 
that  dies  also.  A  third,  a  fourth,  and  still  the 
flower  may  be  years  in  coming.  That,  thought 
the  Elder,  was  because  his  master,  God,  had 
time.  He,  the  servant,  would  work  in  that  same 
way ;  he  would  rest  him  in  the  recognition  of 
eternity. 

The  day  beat  on,  like  a  heavy  pulse.  It  was 
all  heat,  heat,  and  a  threatening  moisture  that 
beset  the  brain.  Luke  lay  supine  under  its 
mantle,  and  the  Elder  watched  beside  him. 
The  shadows  lengthened,  and  their  vigil  lasted. 
Then  Luke  spoke  raspingly :  — 

"  Are  you  ever  afraid  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  lifting  his  face  to 
heaven,  "  I  am  afraid  of  God." 

"  Ain't  you  ashamed  of  it  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Not  after  all  this  rubbish  about  love  ? " 

"  It 's  all  one.  It 's  the  same  fire  that  cooks 
your  breakfast  and  burns  you  when  you  break 
a  law.  It's  all  one." 

A  girl  on  the  camp-ground  began  singing 
"  Happy  Day,"  and  a  chorus  of  young  voices 
joined  her.  They  turned  the  hymn  into  a 


206  KING'S   END 

dryad's  paean.  They  seemed  to  be  quiring, 
not  the  great  abnegation,  but  some  new-found 
spring  of  love  and  youth.  Luke  pointed,  with  a 
shaking  hand. 

"  Happy  Day  ! "  he  repeated,  like  a  curse. 
"I  s'pose  you  're  happy,  too  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Elder  simply,  "  I  should  n't 
call  it  that." 

"  O  ho !  but  you  'd  tell  me  I  'd  be,  if  I  made 
myself  into  a  tomfool  like  the  rest  on  ye." 

The  Elder  felt  the  puzzle  of  life  as  it  con- 
cerns the  soul  and  body,  two  warring  creatures 
forced  to  run  in  double  gear. 

"Folks  are  happy  different  ways,"  he  said. 
"  Sometimes  it 's  one  way  when  we  think  it 's 
another.  When  we  're  young  —  when  we  've 
got  the  folks  we  set  by  —  why,  then  'most  any- 
thing makes  us  see  some  kind  of  heaven.  But 
I  guess  we  don't  very  often  get  there  —  to  stay. 
I  should  n't  think  much  about  that,  if  I  was 
you.  I  don't.  It  only  makes  us  hungry  —  that 
kind  of  hungry  that  never  does  any  good." 

"  You  talk  about  the  love  of  God.  Is  that 
love  ?  To  make  you  hungry,  and  give  you 
nothin'  —  nothin'  "  —  He  clutched  the  grass 
again,  and  bruised  his  fingers  on  the  earth. 
He  seemed  to  be  grasping  at  primal  life :  en- 
treating his  way  savagely  back  into  the  earth,  to 
escape  the  pain  of  growing. 


KING'S   END  207 

"You  see,"  went  on  the  Elder  gently,  "He 
had  to  give  us  some  kinds  of  hunger  that  don't 
amount  to  anything  in  the  end.  You  've  got  to 
eat,  or  you  could  n't  live.  But  what  difference 
will  it  make  to  you  when  you  're  a  free  spirit 
whether  you  've  had  beefsteak  this  day  ?  The 
world  has  got  to  be  carried  on.  Men  have 
got  to  crave  for  women  and  women  for  men,  as 
if  they  were  the  end  and  aim  of  all  —  and  suffer 
hell  pains  to  give  'em  up.  But  it 's  all  one,  all 
one  —  the  love  of  God." 

"  I  don't  want  God,"  gasped  the  man  in  one 
great  confession.  "I  want" —  Then  he  shut 
his  lips  and  set  them  to  the  earth. 

The  Elder  laid  one  close  hand  on  his.  Now 
he  spoke  passionately,  because  this  at  least  he 
knew.  "Give  up,"  he  commanded.  "What- 
ever it  is,  give  up.  Give  up  everything  but 
God.  Follow  after  Him.  The  love  of  God! 
Ask  Him  for  it,  day  and  night,  night  and  day. 
Live  a  thousand  lives  and  die  a  thousand  deaths 
hunting  for  it.  Love  of  father  and  mother, 
wife  and  child,  what  are  they  but  the  love  of 
God  ?  Give  yourself  up  to  Him.  Say  every 
time  you  breathe,  '  Lord,  tell  me  what  to  do.' ' 

Luke  said  no  word.  He  moved  his  cheek  to 
a  cooler  spot  in  the  kind  grass,  and  buried  it 
deeper  there.  The  twilight  came,  and  then  the 


208  KING'S   END 

dusk.  He  slept  a  little,  and  the  Elder  waited. 
They  rose  together,  and  went  back  to  the 
grounds,  where  Julia  met  them  with  food.  She 
glanced  at  them  and  smiled.  For  the  Elder 
looked  as  if  something  very  good  had  hap- 
pened, and  Luke  was  somehow  altered,  as  if 
his  fetters  had  fallen  away.  No  new  spirit  can 
be  hidden,  veil  it  as  we  will  by  diffidence  or 
reserve.  A  little  more  humility,  a  vowed  obe- 
dience, and  we  are  changed. 

That  late  afternoon  Martin,  whose  mind  was 
not  on  prayer-meetings,  met  Alia  in  the  entry 
as  she  went  upstairs.  Her  eyes  had  been  wet 
all  day  without  his  noticing.  Now,  therefore, 
they  were  reddened  anew  by  artifice. 

"  Hullo ! "  said  he,  and  would  have  passed 
her,  but  she  stretched  a  detaining  hand. 

"It  won't  be  'hullo'  much  longer,"  said  she. 
"  Your  mother  's  told  me  something.  She  's 
going  to  clean  house,  and  she  wants  my  room 
—  to-morrow."  Her  eyes  implored  him,  also 
her  grieving  tone.  Had  he  influence  in  his  own 
house  ?  they  asked.  Would  he  give  her  leave 
to  stay  ? 

"  Cleaning  !  "  said  Martin,  betraying  his  sur- 
prise. "  In  the  middle  of  summer  ? " 

"She  says  so." 


KING'S   END  209 

Mrs.  Jeffries  came  out  from  the  sitting-room, 
her  trumpet  ready.  She  fixed  it  to  her  ear 
and  lifted  the  mouthpiece  insinuatingly  toward 
Martin.  "  Did  you  holler  ? "  she  asked  blandly. 
"  Was  you  wantin'  to  speak  to  me  ? " 

Martin  looked  her  in  the  eye  with  a  gaze 
compact  of  admiration.  He  shook  his  head. 
"  Ride  over  to  camp-meeting  with  me  to-night," 
said  he  in  a  hasty  aside  to  Alia.  "  It 's  my  last 
chance."  The  words  escaped  him.  They  were 
meant  for  his  own  mind,  not  for  hers ;  but  they 
covered  her  with  a  radiance  of  hope  fulfilled. 
Even  the  jealous  old  woman  saw  that,  and 
stepped  between. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Martin  ? "  she  asked,  still 
with  a  deceptive  allurement. 

"  Half  past  five,"  said  Martin  under  his  breath. 
"That  '11  be  early  enough." 

Alia  ran  upstairs,  light  of  foot  under  the 
burden  of  her  happiness,  and  Martin  put  his 
lips  to  the  trumpet.  "  Mother,"  said  he  approv- 
ingly, "you  're  the  devil  and  all." 

Mrs.  Jeffries  nodded  in  well-satisfied  com- 
mendation of  so  just  a  sentiment.  "I  ain't  a 
fool  by  any  manner  o'  means,"  she  announced 
modestly.  "  She  's  goin'.  She  tell  ye  ? " 

"  Yes.     Said  you  'd  got  to  have  her  room." 

"  It 's  better  'n  her  company,"  chuckled  the 


210  KING'S   END 

old  lady,  looking  at  him  knowingly,  with  her 
head  on  one  side.  "  Then  you  turn  over  a  new 
leaf.  You  lay  aside  your  profligate  ways,  an' 
go  over  an'  ask  Nancy  Eliot  to  marry  ye.  As 
good  a  girl  as  ever  stepped,  an'  here  you  be 
carryin'  on  like  a  crazed  creatur'.  I  'd  like  to 
know  what  your  father  'd  say ! "  She  withdrew 
the  trumpet,  and  went  composedly  about  her 
work,  leaving  him  to  muse. 

He  went  out  of  doors,  smiling  to  himself  and 
lifting  his  brows  over  the  complications  of  the 
afternoon.  For  his  mother  was  watching,  and 
he  knew  it.  The  indomitable  old  lady  would  keep 
her  eye  on  him  until  Alia  should  be  gone.  She 
was  even  capable  of  climbing  into  the  wagon, 
accoutred  as  she  was,  and  driving  with  them  to 
camp-meeting,  a  righteous  marplot.  So  Martin 
kept  out  of  the  way.  At  five,  he  had  a  "  cold 
bite  "  in  the  pantry,  and  then  disappeared  into 
his  own  room,  where  he  shaved.  By  and  by,  he 
slipped  out  to  the  barn,  groomed  Black  Fancy, 
and  harnessed  her  ready  for  the  carriage.  His 
mother  was  picking  up  chips  when  he  strode 
past  her,  with  a  nod  and  smile  meaning  there 
was  merry  war  between  them.  Mrs.  Jeffries 
ignored  the  nod ;  she  shook  her  head,  and  con- 
tinued to  shake  it  long  after  she  had  seen  him 
lounge  out  into  the  road  and  set  off  in  the 


KING'S  END  211 

direction  of  the  new  house.  But  Martin  only 
walked  until  the  fringed  roadside  hid  him  from 
view ;  then  he  leaped  the  wall  and  came  home 
over  the  field.  His  mother  was  not  visible ;  he 
judged,  and  rightly,  that  she  had  gone  to  put 
on  her  more  sacred  cap  and  apron  for  the  after- 
noon. So  he  tapped  at  Alla's  door. 

"Ready?"  he  asked.  "Go  out  and  wait  in 
the  barn.  Fancy  's  pretty  high  this  afternoon. 
I  'd  rather  you  'd  get  in  there." 

She  called  her  assent  eagerly,  understanding 
what  he  failed  to  explain.  It  was  not  Fancy 
who  was  high. 

When  Martin,  in  the  splendor  of  his  best 
clothes,  went  into  the  barn,  Alia  was  there, 
trembling  and  pretty.  It  took  only  an  instant 
to  back  Fancy  into  the  shafts,  put  the  girl  into 
the  buggy,  and,  opening  the  great  doors,  leap 
in  beside  her.  They  were  driving  swiftly  out 
of  the  yard,  grazing  a  short  curve,  when  the 
expected  happened.  Mrs.  Jeffries,  bonnet  in 
hand,  appeared  on  the  steps  and  called  shrilly 
after  them  :  "  Martin,  Martin,  you  stop  !  You 
take  me,  too  ! " 

Martin  drove  on,  without  turning  his  head. 
Alia  gave  a  little  nervous  laugh,  but  when  she 
looked  at  him  his  face  was  set  immovably,  and 
she  wondered  if  he  could  have  heard.  For  the 


212  KING'S   END 

first  mile  he  said  nothing,  and  she  was  too 
happy  to  talk.  He  had  taken  her  side,  said 
feminine  instinct.  She  had  been  forbidden  the 
house,  but  it  made  no  difference.  The  new  one 
was  almost  ready.  A  word  to-day  and  it  would 
be  settled.  She  was  already  his,  and  he  had 
only  to  speak  to  make  her  so  indeed. 

"  We  '11  get  supper  up  in  the  Cumnor  tent," 
he  said,  at  last.  "  They  '11  have  buns  and  truck." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Alia,  wishing  she  dared 
nestle  closer  to  him,  but  always  repelled  by  that 
strange  aloofness.  "  I  don't  care  'f  I  never 
eat."  She  laughed  again  in  a  wild  exhilaration. 
She  was  like  a  shepherd  lass  who  had  heard  all 
her  life  of  the  mountain  god ;  and  lo  !  a  summer 
day  and  the  god  was  here  beside  her.  Why 
should  he  seek  her,  unless  he  wanted  her  ?  De- 
sire and  the  full  cup  were  on  their  way  to 
meet. 

Martin,  too,  was  under  the  spell  of  a  nervous 
tension.  He  thought  with  lightning  speed,  and 
tried  vainly  to  formulate  what  he  had  to  do.  It 
must  come  as  it  would.  All  he  could  be  sure 
of  was  that  he  must  see  her  absolutely  alo*e 
before  she  went  away ;  so  far,  he  was  succeed- 
ing. 

When  they  drove  into  the  grounds,  the  tur- 
moil of  supper  was  going  on,  and  Alia,  under 


KING'S   END  213 

the  focus  of  eyes,  carried  herself  like  a  village 
queen.  She  knew  what  they  were  thinking. 
She  could  almost  echo  those  unheard  voices. 
Martin  Jeffries  had  got  through  with  that  wild- 
goose  chase  after  Nancy  Eliot,  she  heard  them 
say ;  he  had  taken  up  with  Alia  Mixon.  Good 
for  him !  She  felt  already  like  a  bride,  and 
stood  demurely  by  as  he  fastened  the  horse. 
Then  she  walked  beside  him  to  the  tent  and 
talked  soberly  with  matrons  over  their  picnic 
supper.  When  the  services  began  —  early  that 
night,  because  there  must  be  time  for  a  final 
winnowing  of  chaff  and  wheat  —  she  and  Mar- 
tin sat  down  in  the  outer  row  of  seats. 

"  We  can  slip  away  if  we  want  to,"  he  whis- 
pered her,  and  she  nodded,  with  burning  cheeks. 
She  thought  he  would  propose  going  soon,  per- 
haps by  the  Old  Gristmill  Road.  The  moon 
would  be  up,  and  in  that  silvered  seclusion  they 
could  talk  and  talk.  .  She  almost  felt  his  lips  on 
hers,  and  sighed. 

The  meeting  began,  and  the  great  exhorter 
called  upon  Christians  to  rise  and  then  upon 
the  sinners.  At  each  summons,  Alia  gave  a 
frightened  look  at  Martin ;  but  seeing  him  un- 
stirred, she  sank  back,  half-heartedly  relieved. 
The  exhorter  was  a  giant,  of  an  imposing  pre- 
sence. His  black  hair  swept  back  from  his 


214  KING'S   END 

forehead,  his  eyes  burned  in  the  lantern  light, 
and  his  voice  rang  superbly  through  the  echo- 
ing wood. 

"  Come  to  the  mercy  seat ! "  he  chanted. 
"  Come !  Come !  Every  one  !  Every  one  ! 
Young  men  and  maidens,  come,  or  it  will  be 
too  late!  too  late!" 

Tremulous  forms  rose  in  the  darkness  and 
stole  down  to  the  anxious  seat.  Sobs  were  in 
the  air,  and  at  every  movement  the  exhorter 
cried,  "  Glory  to  God !  Glory  to  God !  " 

Elder  Kent,  standing  by  the  platform  with 
Luke,  like  a  darker  shadow,  had  folded  his  arms 
and  lifted  a  peaceful  face  to  heaven.  But  when 
these  cries  arose,  he  too  murmured  adoringly, 
"  Glory  to  God !  " 

The  night  was  suffocatingly  still.  Women 
waved  their  palm-leaf  fans,  and  even  in  that 
outer  air,  two  or  three  were  led,  faint  and  breath- 
less, to  the  spring.  There  was  a  rumbling  of 
thunder  from  the  west,  and  slow,  rosy  flashes 
of  lightning  lit  the  whole  heaven,  disclosing 
fear,  repentance,  and  a  vague  uneasiness  on 
scores  of  upturned  faces.  Even  with  Martin, 
Alia  was  afraid.  She  could  hardly  breathe. 
Little  sobs  arose  in  her  throat,  and  she  choked 
them,  fearing  his  derision.  The  lightning  came 
more  regularly  now,  disclosing  the  black- 


KING'S   END  215 

ness  of  the  cloud-pall  overhead.  Underneath 
the  exhorter's  frenzy,  there  was  a  murmur  of 
secular  talk.  Men  consulted  together,  and  won- 
dered whether  it  would  be  well  to  wait  till  the 
storm  broke,  or  to  be  on  the  homeward  way. 
Some  of  them  drew  their  women  folk  aside,  and 
there  was  a  noise  of  rustling  skirts  and,  from 
the  tents,  a  sound  of  packing.  The  common- 
place tumult  surged  about  Alia  like  a  premoni- 
tory warning.  With  these  words  of  death  and 
judgment  in  her  ear,  it  seemed  like  the  end  of 
the  world ;  her  only  stay  was  Martin,  and  he 
made  no  move  to  still  her  tremors. 

"I  guess  we'd  better  get  out  of  this,"  he 
said  at  last,  when  the  flashes  gave  place  to  a 
zigzag  streak  and  a  nearer  peal.  "What  do 
you  think?" 

"  Oh,  let 's  go  home ! "  she  cried,  beside  her- 
self. "  I  'm  afraid  —  the  thunder  and  all  these 
folks." 

She  took  his  arm  and  hurried  with  him  to 
the  tree  where  Fancy  had  been  tethered.  The 
horse  whinnied  gladly  and  laid  her  nose  to 
Martin's  shoulder.  Her  eyes  showed  her  feel- 
ings ;  her  ears  were  flat.  She  was  young,  and 
she,  too,  hated  thunder.  They  drove  cautiously 
over  the  rough  wood  road,  and  then  out  on  the 
highway  at  a  quickened  pace.  Fancy  knew  it 


216  KING'S  END 

all.  The  storm  was  coming,  and  she  was  to  let 
it  chase  and  never  overtake  her.  Martin,  driv- 
ing carefully,  his  eyes  on  the  road  and  every 
sense  alert,  had  his  mind  on  the  quest  for  which 
he  had  come.  The  shower  might  balk  him. 

"Alia,"  said  he,  "see  here!  You  've  got  to 
tell  me  something." 

Her  fears  settled  themselves  like  magic.  This 
was  the  moment  of  her  life.  She  looked  bliss- 
fully into  the  storm,  and  smiled. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  her  voice  all  sweetness. 

A  sharper  gleam  struck  them  in  the  face. 
Fancy  rose  on  her  hind  legs,  and  bolted.  Martin 
set  his  hands  to  the  reins,  and  pulled  her  into 
her  swift,  considered  trot.  He  spoke  between 
clenched  teeth,  managing,  as  he  was,  both  horse 
and  woman.  "When  you  took  my  ' Pilgrim's 
Progress,'  what  did  you  do  with  that  pressed 
flower  in  it  ?  " 

Thrown  from  her  base  of  expectation,  Alia 
gasped  and  clenched  her  hands.  Was  he  in- 
sane, or  had  she  heard  him  wrongly  ?  It  seemed 
a  part  of  the  storm.  Anything  was  possible  on 
a  night  like  this.  "  I  never  "  —  she  began,  but 
he  stopped  her. 

"  You  went  into  my  room  and  took  down  my 
*  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  You've  got  the  paper 
the  flower  was  in.  Where  is  the  flower? " 


KING'S   END  217 

The  storm  was  on  them  with  announcing 
splashes,  and  then  the  driving  volley  of  the  rain. 
The  thunder  broke  in  cracks;  the  lightning 
blinded  them.  Martin  gave  up  argument,  for 
the  horse  forgot  she  had  a  master,  and  the  next 
moment  might  see  them  in  the  ditch.  With  a 
sharp  turn  that  wrung  a  little  cry  from  Alia,  he 
dipped  into  a  yard  and  drove  up  to  a  barn, 
where  he  called  and  then  waited  for  some  one 
to  come. 

Old  Uncle  Simeon  Beane  pottered  out  of  the 
house  with  a  lantern,  and  began  struggling  with 
the  door.  "  I  've  expected  some  on  ye  for  the 
last  half  an  hour,"  he  panted.  "  I  says  to  her, 
some  o'  them  camp-meetin'  folks  '11  be  sure  to 
drive  in.  Gosh  !  ain't  that  a  high  hoss  !  " 

Fancy  stood  on  her  hind  legs  again,  and 
pawed  at  the  barn. 

"  I  'd  give  you  a  hand,  only  I  don't  like  to 
leave  her,"  said  Martin ;  but  the  old  man  had 
at  last  conquered  the  latch,  and  the  wind  was 
helping  them.  The  door  swung  open. 

They  drove  in,  and  the  horse  stood  dripping 
and  quivering,  her  nostrils  big  with  fright.  Alia 
had  longed  for  shelter,  but  these  hay-lined  walls 
presaged  a  darker  doom.  If  she  must  be  struck, 
it  might  better  be  in  the  open.  But  if  Martin 
would  only  be  kind  to  her  —  she  choked  a  little, 


2i8  KING'S   END 

and  felt  her  fear.  Old  Simeon,  clinging  for 
dear  life  to  the  barn  door,  had  shut  and  hooked 
it.  He  was  a  thin  shaving  of  a  man,  with  a  tuft 
of  beard  and  a  memory  of  eyes.  They  seemed 
to  have  withdrawn  into  their  sockets,  to  keep 
the  keener  watch.  He  lifted  his  lantern,  and 
gazed  admiringly  at  Fancy. 

"That's  a  pretty  fair  hoss,"  he  remarked; 
but  upon  the  heels  of  his  speech  came  flash  and 
roar,  and  he  fell  into  the  limpness  of  the  sum- 
moned. "God  sakes!"  he  cried,  "le's  not 
have  no  worldly  talk.  We  're  in  the  power  of 
the  Almighty."  He  withdrew  into  the  tie-up, 
where  darkness  invited  him,  leaving  the  lantern 
behind,  and  began  a  sepulchral  counting.  Mar- 
tin stepped  down,  and  stood  by  Fancy's  head. 

"  What 's  that  old  pirate  counting  for  ?  "  he 
asked  Alia,  and  she  returned,  shuddering  :  — 

"To  tell  whether  the  thunder  gets  farther 
off.  Gran'ther  used  to." 

Martin  stroked  the  horse's  neck,  and  seemed 
to  be  thinking.  Alia  could  not  look  at  him. 
Suddenly  she  was  afraid  of  him,  more,  even, 
than  of  the  storm.  He  was  so  terribly  remote. 
The  barn  had  been  packed  with  new  hay,  some 
of  it  brought  in  that  afternoon;  it  was  from 
the  lowland  and  thick  with  spearmint.  The 
air  reeked  with  the  fragrance.  She  hated  it 


KING'S   END  219 

because  it  seemed  a  part  of  this  hideous  time. 
Martin  left  the  horse,  and  came  nearer.  His 
gaze  compelled  her  eyes.  "Alia,"  he  said, 
"  where 's  that  flower,  that  ladies'-delight  ? " 

Her  lips  whitened,  but  she  did  not  answer. 
Invention  failed  her. 

"  Seven  —  eight  —  nine,"  came  weirdly  from 
the  darkness,  and  with  the  peal,  began  again  at 
one. 

"  You  might  as  well  tell  me,"  said  Martin. 
"  You  see  I  know  the  whole  story.  You  took 
down  my  *  Pilgrim's  Progress.'  You  found  a 
folded  paper  in  it,  and  the  paper  had  a  flower 
pressing.  I  know,  because  that  paper  was  the 
note  you  told  Nancy  Eliot  she  'd  got  to  pay." 

Alia  looked  at  him,  fascinated ;  this  was  not 
the  way  discovery  should  come.  He  was  not 
blaming  her  about  the  note ;  he  only  talked  of 
flowers. 

"Did  you  throw  the  flower  away?"  asked 
Martin. 

"I  guess  I — lost  it,"  she  answered,  almost 
inaudibly. 

He  smiled,  and  catching  the  flash  of  that  con- 
cession, she  breathed  again. 

"  That 's  all  right,"  he  said.  "  So  the  flower 
was  there.  And  the  paper  't  was  in  was  the 


220  KING'S   END 

She  was  constrained  to  answer,  "  Yes." 

He  came  a  little  nearer,  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  the  wheel.  "  Alia,"  said  he,  "  have  you 
made  way  with  that  other  note  ? " 

In  spite  of  herself,  she  shook  her  head.  His 
masterful  spirit  and  the  terrors  of  the  world 
without  were  both  constraining  her. 

"  Then,"  said  Martin,  still  gently,  "  I  '11  tell 
you  what  you  've  got  to  do.  You  've  got  to 
show  me  both  notes  together,  and  let  me  tell 
you  how  to  keep  out  of  Pillcott  Jail.  It  won't 
help  you  to  destroy  either  one  now.  You  've 
got  to  let  me  manage  it." 

Her  teeth  were  chattering,  and  she  cowered 
into  her  shawl.  Was  he  a  malignant  spirit,  or 
was  he  kind  ?  Old  Simeon  appeared  from  the 
shadow  moderately  cheerful,  for  the  thunder  was 
rumbling  away,  and  the  last  flashes  had  scarcely 
penetrated  his  retreat. 

"  About  that  hoss,  now,"  he  began,  but  Mar- 
tin had  opened  the  door  and  was  backing  out, 
calling,  as  he  took  his  place  :  "  Much  obliged ! 
Do  the  same  for  you,  come  Judgment  Day  !  " 

Fancy's  hoofs  went  beating  down  the  muddy 
road,  and  the  old  man  chuckled  to  himself,  as  he 
latched  the  door  and  went  in  to  bed. 

Martin  drove  swiftly  and  without  a  word. 
When  they  entered  the  yard,  the  moon  was 


KING'S   END  221 

shining,  and  the  clouds,  withdrawing,  left  the 
world  all  light.  Mrs.  Jeffries'  lamp  was  burn- 
ing, and  Martin  knew  she  was  watching  for  him 
to  drive  into  the  barn.  He  stopped  at  the  gate, 
and  going  back  to  the  carriage,  held  out  his 
hands.  Alia  stepped  down  trembling,  and  stood 
beside  him  on  the  soaking  grass.  She  was  sick 
with  the  dread  of  him  and  her  own  accomplished 
deed. 

"Go  into  the  house,"  said  Martin  steadily, 
"and  get  both  notes.  Bring  'em  out  into  the 
barn.  Come  to  the  cow-house  door.  I  '11  be 
there.  I  '11  fix  it  for  you,  Alia.  It 's  that  or 
jail." 

Still  she  did  not  know  whether  he  was  kind 
or  only  threatening  her  to  her  own  betrayal. 
No  matter:  languor  fell  upon  her,  and  she 
went  weakly  up  the  path.  At  the  steps, 
she  heard  him  coming.  Silently  he  pushed 
open  the  door  and  groped  his  way  behind  her 
up  the  stairs.  In  his  own  room,  he  lighted  a 
candle  and  carried  it  in,  to  find  her  trying,  with 
shaking  hands,  to  take  off  her  wet  shawl.  He 
helped  her  gently,  and  she  looked  up  at  him 
with  an  imploring  patience. 

"  Come,  Alia,"  said  he,  "get  the  notes." 

"  There  's  only  one,"  she  faltered  weakly. 

"  Oh  yes !  there 's  two,  at  present.     If  there 


222  KING'S   END 

isn't,  you've  destroyed  the  old  one,  and  that 
means  jail.  Find  the  notes." 

She  opened  the  bureau  drawer,  and  took  out 
her  father's  wallet.  It  was  stuffed  with  papers. 
Defiantly  she  selected  one  and  gave  it  to  him. 
"That 's  all  there  is,"  she  said  sullenly,  combat- 
ing her  fear. 

A  step  sounded  in  the  sitting-room  below ; 
then  an  intermittent  whirring  told  that  Mrs. 
Jeffries  had  begun  to  wind  the  clock. 

"  There 's  mother,"  said  Martin.  "  Out  with 
the  candle.  We  've  got  to  finish  this,  now 
we  've  begun." 

He  blew  out  the  light,  and  they  stood  silent 
while  Mrs.  Jeffries  came  halfway  up  the  stairs, 
sniffing  at  the  smoke.  Then  they  heard  her 
retreat  to  the  kitchen,  on  some  forgotten  quest. 
Martin  threw  up  the  window,  tossed  out  the 
telltale  candle,  and  whispered,  - 

"  Come,  you  've  got  to  talk  with  me." 

He  grasped  her  wrist,  and  drew  her  down  the 
stairs,  out  over  the  wet  grass  to  the  barn.  She 
would  have  resisted  him,  save  for  her  ignorance 
of  his  desires  toward  her.  Was  he  working 
for  Nancy  ?  She  would  have  held  to  her  point, 
defying  him  and  the  law.  Was  he  working  for 
her  ?  She  could  deny  him  nothing.  He  led  her 
through  the  door  into  the  cow  house,  and  left  her 


KING'S   END  223 

there  in  darkness  while  he  lighted  the  lantern. 
She  could  hear  the  cows  chewing  their  cuds  in 
the  yard  without,  and  the  drip,  drip  of  water 
from  the  eaves.  She  hated  the  country  now, 
as  she  had  been  used  to  hate  it  in  the  old  days, 
before  she  went  away  and  fell  in  love  with  city 
streets.  Martin  came  toward  her  with  the  lan- 
tern, illuminating  a  step  before  him  and  carving 
the  shadows  into  caverns  blacker  still.  His  face 
wore  a  fictitious  sternness  because,  little  as  she 
might  know  it,  he  was  not  yet  out  of  the  woods 
of  doubt.  He  brought  forward  a  keg,  and  turned 
it  over. 

"Sit  down,"  he  said.  "Alia,  where 's  that 
note?"  He  had  the  new  one  in  his  pocket. 
She  had  seen  him  put  it  there. 

"  You  've  got  it,"  she  said  doggedly. 

"  I  Ve  got  the  copy.  Where  is  the  old  note, 
with  your  father's  writing  on  the  back  ?  " 

She  put  her  head  on  one  side  and  bridled  a 
little,  with  a  pathetic  recurrence  to  her  idea  of 
feminine  charm.  "  I  wish  you  would  n't  plague 
me  so,"  she  pouted.  "  When  I  'm  sleepy, 
too!" 

"  I  shall  have  to  be  a  witness,"  said  Martin 
inexorably.  "  When  I  'm  asked,  I  shall  have  to 
own  you  went  into  my  room,  took  down  my 
book,  and  stole  this  note  out  of  it.  The  note 


224  KING'S   END 

was  one  Nancy  wrote  in  the  schoolhouse  one 
day,  to  carry  up  to  your  father.  She  thought 
it  did  n't  look  well  enough,  and  so  she  copied 
it,  and  I  took  this  and  slipped  it  into  my  book, 
to  press  a  flower.  I  can't  tell  what  you  did 
with  the  other,  but  I  shall  have  to  prove  you 
stole  this.  Come,  Alia,  own  up,  and  it 's  be- 
tween you  and  me  so  long  as  we  both  shall 
live." 

He  spoke  solemnly,  and  the  words  hurt  her 
with  their  echo  of  unending  troth. 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  for  ?  "  she  asked 
sharply,  from  the  acuteness  of  her  pain. 

Then  Martin  hedged,  and  was  wholesomely 
ashamed.  "  I  don't  want  to  think  you  're  a 
thief." 

Her  eyes  were  upon  him,  trying  to  read  his 
mind.  He  could  see  her  poise  and  counterpoise, 
but  he  never  knew  how  despairingly.  Her 
terrible  human  stake  lay  quite  outside  his  line 
of  vision.  He  knew  she  sought  him,  coquetted 
with  him  ;  but  knowing  also  how  shallow  she 
was,  he  never  called  that  pastime  love.  Her 
face  whitened.  She  had  decided.  On  the  one 
hand  was  certain  loss,  and  on  the  other  a  little 
less  despair.  She  would  yield,  and  then  he 
must  reward  her.  Rising,  she  put  her  hand 
into  the  inner  pocket  of  her  petticoat,  brought 


KING'S   END  225 

forth  a  slip  of  paper,  and  held  it  toward  him, 
looking  up  at  him  with  anguished  eyes. 
"There!"  she  breathed. 

Martin  took  it,  and  turned  it  from  one  side  to 
the  other.  "  That 's  the  ticket ! "  said  he  gladly. 
"  Twenty,  thirty,  thirty  —  there  '11  be  a  matter 
of  interest,  a  few  cents."  He  took  out  his 
pocket  pen  —  one  he  had  bought  Nancy  and 
offered  her  in  vain  —  and  figured  rapidly  on  the 
spurious  note.  "That's  how  I  make  it,"  he 
said,  "  to  date.  That  suit  you  ? " 

She  nodded,  waiting  for  him  to  thrust  aside 
the  hateful  business  and  turn  to  what  concerned 
themselves.  Martin  drew  out  his  disreputable 
wallet,  fat  with  bills,  perhaps  prepared  for  this 
encounter.  Selecting  two,  he  laid  them  in  her 
lap.  "  Look  it  over,"  said  he  briskly.  "That 
all  right?  Now  put  your  name  here.  Easy 
with  the  pen.  Sometimes  it  splutters." 

Alia  wrote  unseeingly.  Her  careless  letters 
straggled  down  the  page.  Then  she  passed  him 
pen  and  paper  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  waited. 
Martin,  smiling,  blew  upon  the  signature. 

"  That 's  over,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "  You  're 
all  right,  Alia.  I  would  n't  do  that  kind  of  thing 
again,  though.  If  you  monkey  with  business, 
you  '11  get  left.  Now  run  in  and  put  on  dry 
clothes.  I  '11  hold  the  lantern." 


226  KING'S   END 

She  looked  at  him  fiercely.  "  Is  that  all  ? " 
she  cried. 

"  I  guess  so.  We  don't  want  to  rake  up  any- 
thing more  about  it,  do  we  ? " 

"  Is  it  all  ?  "  she  repeated.  She  tried  to  sum- 
mon a  just  indignation  and  was  conscious  only 
of  being  cold.  "  Martin  Jeffries,  is  that  why 
you  Ve  been  going  with  me  ?  " 

Martin  had  made  the  mistake  of  ignoring 
emotion  in  her  because  she  ignored  it  in  some 
one  else.  Yet  human  things  are  not  to  be  dealt 
with  thus,  and  the  unjust  soul  may  awaken,  and 
cry  in  its  turn  for  justice.  But  still  he  thought 
only  of  Nancy,  and  after  Nancy,  himself.  Alia 
seemed  a  subordinate  character,  made  to  be  put 
aside,  now  that  her  part  was  played. 

"Going  with  you?"  he  repeated  honestly. 
"  Bless  your  soul !  Don't  get  such  a  bee  as  that 
into  your  bonnet.  Oh,  Alia,  come,  be  a  good 
girl !  Run  in  now,  and  get  on  some  dry 
clothes." 

She  rose  and  slipped  away  into  the  dark.  At 
the  door  he  thought  he  heard  a  sob,  and  called 
her  name ;  but  though  he  ran  after  her,  careless 
of  his  mother's  eyes,  she  was  gone  and  in  her 
own  room.  It  seemed  to  him  a  bad  business 
well  over,  and  he  led  Black  Fancy  into  the  yard 
and  whistled  as  he  unharnessed.  His  mother 


KIND'S   END  227 

set  the  lamp  in  the  window  to  throw  a  track  of 
light,  and  when  he  went  in  she  met  him  at  the 
door.  Her  face  challenged  him. 

"  Martin,"  said  she,  quite  humbly,  offering  her 
trumpet,  "  you  ain't  up  to  anything  you  could  n't 
let  your  father  know,  now  be  you  ? " 

He  was  about  to  put  her  jeeringly  off,  accord- 
ing to  their  mutual  habit  of  play ;  but  suddenly 
he  became  aware  that  this  was  not  tyranny  call- 
ing from  her  eyes.  It  was  a  quivering  apprehen- 
sion. He  spoke  gently  into  the  tube :  "  Now, 
mother,  you  just  treat  me  once  as  if  I  was  a 
white  man  !  I  'm  as  good  as  you  are." 

The  little  old  lady  sighed.  "  You  ain't  got 
anyways  tangled  up  with  that  creatur'  ? "  she 
insisted. 

"  I  just  took  her  to  ride.  I  had  to,  did  n't  .1, 
to  plague  you,  after  you  'd  been  cross  to  her  ? 
Now,  mother,  you  be  a  decent  old  lady,  and  I  '11 
have  Nancy  writing  her  name  with  a  J  before 
Thanksgiving." 

Her  face  softened  a  little,  and  she  smiled,  with 
some  return  of  her  general  defiance  of  destiny. 
"Then  le' s  get  to  bed,"  said  she,  "an'  be  up 
time  enough  to  pack  off  that  creatur'  up  there. 
She  said  she  'd  go  by  the  fust  train." 

Martin  detained  her,  to  plead.  "  Mother,  now 
you  act  nice  to  her  in  the  morning.  I  Ve  been 


228  KING'S   END 

as  hateful  as  a  hog.  She 's  all  out  of  conceit 
with  me." 

In  that  event,  said  Mrs.  Jeffries'  answering 
glint  of  smile,  amiability  might  be  managed. 
"I'll  have  cream-o'-tartar  biscuits  for  break- 
fast," she  promised. 

Martin  saw  her  up  the  stairs  to  her  room,  and 
threw  off  his  wet  coat  for  a  dry  one.  He  stayed 
only  to  change  the  contents  of  the  inner  pocket, 
and  then  strode  out  of  the  house,  shutting  the 
door  behind  him.  He  knew  Nancy  was  not 
at  camp-meeting,  for  Aunt  Lindy  and  Mrs. 
Eliot  were  there  with  the  Kanes.  It  might  not 
be  too  late  to  find  her.  There  was  no  light, 
but  he  tried  the  door,  and  then  stepped  into 
the  dusky  entry,  whence  he  knew  his  way. 
"Nancy!  "  he  called  softly,  with  some  presenti- 
ment. 

"  Oh,  Martin !  Martin !  "  answered  a  sobbing 
voice  on  the  heels  of  his  speech.  "  You  there  ? 
Oh,  Martin,  is  that  you  ?  " 

He  felt  along  through  the  darkness  with 
hands  outstretched,  and  hearing  the  catch  of 
her  breath,  touched  the  soft  shawl  about  her 
shoulders.  She  stood  still,  her  pulsating  blood 
betraying  her,  and  when  he  drew  her  into  his 
arms  she  clung  there,  and,  like  a  child,  curled 
her  head  into  his  coat.  He  could  feel  her 


KING'S   END  229 

breath,  and  his  own,  hot  and  fast,  met  and  min- 
gled with  it. 

"  Oh,  Nancy,  don't  speak ! "  he  whispered, 
"give  me  your  mouth."  But  while  they  stood 
there,  he  guessed  how  she  was  yielding,  until 
only  his  arms  upheld  her.  She  seemed  pathet- 
ically weak  for  the  girl  who  had  so  flouted  him. 
Was  it  she,  or  another  made  in  her  image,  yet 
all  sweetness  ?  He  did  not  care.  She  seemed 
to  him  not  so  much  the  one  he  had  loved  and 
striven  for,  as  all  womankind  made  to  draw  the 
primal  man  in  him  eternally.  But  because  she 
was  so  weak,  he  put  out  his  hand  and  found  the 
corner  of  the  sofa  where  she  had  been  lying, 
and  so  guided  her  to  it.  They  sat  down  to- 
gether, his  arms  again  about  her.  Then  she 
spoke,  but  with  a  recklessness  new  to  her  pure 
voice. 

"  Martin,  I  can  kiss  you  to-night,  for  it 's  the 
last  time  —  the  first  and  the  last.  I  Ve  com- 
mitted the  unpardonable  sin." 

He  laughed  and  stroked  her  cheek.  "  Good 
for  you,  Nancy  !  Now  you  can  tell  'em  what 
it  is." 

She  only  shuddered.  "  I  'm  lost,"  she  said 
quite  softly,  but  with  her  teeth  chattering. 
"  So  it  don't  make  any  difference  what  I  do.  I 
know  you  're  going  with  another  girl,  but  I  don't 


230  KING'S   END 

even  care  for  that,  so  long 's  you  're  here  this 
minute." 

"  Stuff  and  nonsense  !  there  's  no  other  girl. 
Because  I  took  Alia  Mixon  to  ride,  to  get  a 
chance  to  see  her  alone  and  talk  about  your 
note  ?  You  little  fool !  you  know  every  drop  of 
blood  in  me  is  yours,  just  as  yours  belongs  to 
me.  If  we  could  have  our  blood  turned  into 
each  other's  veins,  we  should  n't  know  the  dif- 
ference, should  we  ?  You  tell." 

"  No  !  no  !  " 

But  Martin  really  loved  her,  for  tenderness 
constrained  him  to  be  gentle.  He  touched  her 
cheek  again,  and  made  his  voice  all  kindness  : 
"Tell  about  it." 

"  I  've  committed  the  unpardonable  sin,"  she 
repeated  monotonously.  "  I  Ve  upset  my  life 
every  way.  Somehow  or  other,  I  got  cheated 
out  of  all  the  money  I  worked  for,  —  the  money 
mother  ought  to  have.  I  was  n't  fit  to  do  busi- 
ness. Then  I  went  up  there  to  Luke's,  and  got 
myself  talked  about.  Aunt  Lindy  let  that  out 
to-day." 

"What's  the  value  of  their  talk?  —  a  last 
year's  bird's  nest." 

"  Did  you  hear  it  ?  " 

"  Some  of  it,  yes." 

"  Did  you  think  I  was  —  bad  ? " 


KING'S   END  231 

He  fancied  her  eyes  darkening  in  pain. 

"  I  thought  exactly  what  everybody  else  did ! 
I  thought  you  were  a  little  fool.  I  did  n't  like 
your  cutting  round  over  the  pastures  at  night, 
so  I  used  to  follow  on,  to  see  you  come  out 
right" 

"  I  heard  the  steps.  I  thought  it  was  spirits. 
Was  it  you  ? " 

"  Me.     Spirit  of  a  just  man  made  perfect." 

"  Did  you  follow  me  the  night  I  walked  up 
the  road  with  him  ?  " 

"  Till  he  tried  to  kiss  you.  Then  I  thought 
—  if  you  liked  it,  he  might."  Some  reserve  of 
a  pain  she  had  not  suspected  moved  the  lightness 
of  his  voice,  and,  jealous  for  him,  she  retorted 
sharply,  — 

"  He  did  n't  kiss  me." 

"  No.  I  saw  you  bowl  him  over.  I  said,  *  She '  s 
my  Nancy  yet.  I  can  trust  her.'  So  I  went 
along  home." 

Something  prompted  her  to  probe  him  further. 
"  Suppose  I  had  liked  him  ?  " 

"Then,"  said  Martin,  "  I  should  have  known 
I  'd  got  to  wait  for  you  till  you  got  over  your 
craze  and  came  back." 

"  How  long  ?  " 

"  Maybe  a  year.  Maybe  —  till  the  sun  cools 
off." 


232  KING'S   END 

But  Nancy  shivered  back  to  her  grief.  "  I 
have  committed  the  unpardonable  sin,"  she 
repeated. 

"  That 's  all  right.  Just  like  you,  too  !  You 
would  n't  be  contented  with  arson  or  murder  ; 
no  makeshifts  for  a  girl  like  you  !  " 

"  I  promised  God  to  give  up  everything  and 
preach  the  gospel.  Then  I  saw  you  go  by  to 
camp-meeting  with  her.  I  'd  seen  you  with  her 
before,  but  to-night  I  could  n't  bear  it.  I  sent 
word  to  the  Elder  that  I  would  n't  go  away  with 
them,  and  I  sat  here  all  the  evening  and  talked 
to  God.  I  told  Him  I  had  just  one  thing  besides 
mother,  and  He  'd  taken  it  away.  I  did  n't 
mind  the  money's  going,  but  you  —  you  ! " 
She  clung  to  him  agonized,  with  a  sharp  and 
sudden  understanding  of  what  it  is  to  be  bereft. 

"  Oh,  my  soul  and  body !  "  groaned  Martin. 
"  When  it  comes  to  living  on  this  earth,  not  one 
of  you  women  is  knee-high  to  a  grasshopper. 
What  do  you  suppose  God  cares  about  your 
squeaking  little  back  talk  ?  You  just  come  over 
to  the  new  house,  along  in  the  fall,  and  wash 
dishes  and  cook  johnny-cake,  like  any  other 
married  woman,  and  be  kissed  for  your  pains, 
and  see  if  God  interferes  with  you.  More  or 
less  He  will.  We  Ve  got  to  tough  it  with  the 
rest.  Even  squirrels  have  hard  winters.  But 


KING'S   END  233 

what  do  you  suppose  He  put  us  here  for,  but  to 
mate,  and  clear  up  the  ground  a  little,  and  sow 
a  few  grass-seeds,  and  plant  a  tree  ?  We  ain't 
—  arc  not  here  to  be  forever  packing  to  go 
somewheres  else.  If  God  is  the  kind  of  a  county 
sheriff  you  seem  to  think,  He  must  get  terrible 
tired  of  seeing  folks  'round  with  their  white 
robes  on,  and  their  harps  standing  ready,  tied 
up  in  green  baize." 

"  I  tell  you  I  'm  lost.  I  have  a  sense  of  sin." 
"  Sense  of  sin !  sense  of  fiddlestick !  You  're 
tired  out.  You  've  kept  school  and  revamped 
the  universe  till  you're  off  your  head.  King's 
End 's  too  bracing,  anyway.  Father  used  to  say 
so.  That 's  why  we  're  all  more  or  less  luny. 
I  made  up  my  mind  when  I  used  to  see  you 
whipping  by  to  school,  with  your  eyes  starting 
out  of  your  head,  that,  when  we  were  married, 
we  'd  go  to  the  sea  every  summer,  and  camp  out. 
Yes,  ma'am  !  Oh,  Nancy,  girl,  don't  waste  this 
first  minute  talking  about  sin.  Think  how  the 
sage  and  marjoram  will  smell  when  you  come 
out  between  the  rows  to  call  me  to  dinner,  and 
your  skirts  brush  against  'em.  And  in  the  win- 
ter, when  you  have  a  sore  throat,  I  '11  tie  it  up 
in  pork  and  petticoats ! " 

And  lo  !  since  he  was  a  man  and  the  man  she 
loved,  all  her  cares  fell  away  from  her.     His 


234  KING'S   END 

rude  vigor  seemed  the  only  real  thing  on  earth ; 
and  because  the  earth  belonged  to  him,  it  was 
hers  also,  and  dear  to  her. 

"  Could  I,  do  you  think,"  she  asked,  with  a 
timidity  he  found  adorable,  —  "  could  I  let  my- 
self live  along  like  that  ?  But  if  I  did,  Martin, 
if  I  did  it  ever,  I  should  have  to  pay  off  that 
money  first,  so 's  mother  'd  be  provided  for." 

"  *  Come,  rise  up,  William  Reilly,' '  quoted 
Martin.  "  Let 's  have  a  light. " 

He  never  forgot  that  first  glimpse  of  her 
illumined  by  the  little  lamp.  Her  lips  a-quiver 
over  the  white  teeth,  her  eyes  all  sweet  and 
shining,  she  looked  as  if  she  had  risen  from  a 
bath  of  happiness.  The  other  prim  Nancy  had 
gone.  This  seemed  her  younger  sister,  the  child 
of  youth  and  love,  spelling  out  the  first  letters 
of  the  sweetness  of  earth.  The  picture  came 
back  to  him  that  night  when  he  lay  in  his  little 
dark  room,  and  he  knew  then  that  he  had  it  for- 
ever. But  at  the  moment  when  his  eyes  re- 
corded it,  he  was  not  conscious  of  her  looks  at 
all :  only  that  he  had  something  which  would 
please  her  very  much.  He  took  out  the  missing 
note,  and  presented  it,  with  his  dancing-school 
bow. 

"There,  Miss  Nancy!"  said  he.  "Compli- 
ments of  the  season." 


KING'S   END  235 

She  took  it,  first  indifferently,  and  then  in 
an  unbelieving  joy.  Her  fingers  shook.  "  Oh, 
Martin  !  "  she  cried,  "  Oh,  Martin  !  you  tell  me 
where  you  got  it !  " 

Martin  was,  as  he  owned  to  himself  after- 
wards, stumped.  All  the  address  of  man  is 
powerless,  he  saw,  before  an  inquiring  woman. 
He  may  do  deeds  for  her ;  but  it  is  a  marvel  if 
he  can  unriddle  how  he  did  them.  But  his  was 
a  blithe  and  dauntless  wit.  He  took  her  hands, 
and  the  note  fluttered  down  between  them, 
Nancy  eyeing  it  hard,  afraid  of  further  witchery. 

"  Nancy,  dear,"  said  he,  "  Alia  happened  to 
find  the  first  draft  you  wrote  there  in  the 
schoolhouse  that  day.  I  slipped  it  into  my 
book,  to  press  the  flower  in.  Don't  you  know  I 
asked  you  about  the  flower  ?  Well,  you  see  I  'd 
lost  it ;  and  Alia,  she  'd  borrowed  my  book,  and 
the  paper  —  sort  o'  fell  out  and  she  found  it. 
And  then  she  came  across  the  other,  the  right 
one,  —  and  she  was  afraid  to  tell.  I  knew  there 
was  something  on  her  mind,  so  I  took  her  to 
ride  to  get  chances  to  see  her,  and  mother  not 
know,  —  though  somehow  I  never  could  get 
anywhere  till  to-night.  She 's  all  broke  up  about 
it,  Nancy.  You  won't  speak  of  it  ?  Not  to  her, 
not  to  anybody,  ever  ?  "  He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  I  guess   I  won't,  if  you  tell  me  not  to ! " 

\\ 


236  KING'S   END 

She  looked  at  him  from  that  new  plane  of  sub- 
mission, and  her  humility  went  to  his  head. 

He  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders,  though 
the  Kanes'  old  wagon,  with  its  three  loose 
spokes,  had  rattled  up  to  the  gate,  and  he  knew 
Aunt  Lindy  was  probably  beginning  her  diffi- 
cult descent.  Martin  regarded  his  girl  with 
eyes  so  compelling  that  she  felt  her  first  doubt 
whether  she  had  ever  known  him  in  the  least. 
"  Nancy  !  Nancy  !  what  do  you  suppose  is  go- 
ing to  happen  ? " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  're  going  to  turn  to  me  the  same  way 
you  Ve  done  everything  else.  You  're  going  to 
breathe  my  breath,  think  my  thoughts,  make 
a  little  god  out  of  me.  I  know  you.  Lord ! 
have  n't  I  got  my  hands  full !  " 

She  looked  at  him,  wistfully  and  still  uncom- 
prehending. "  Don't  I  care  about  you  the  way 
you  want  ? "  she  asked  timidly.  "  Do  I  set  by 
you  too  much  ? " 

He  could  not  answer  her,  and  she  felt  him 
trembling  through  his  strength.  He  knew  it 
would  be  years  before  she  really  learned  what 
love  is  like.  Mrs.  Eliot's  hand  was  on  the  latch, 
and  Nancy,  with  sudden  panic,  drew  him  round 
the  other  way. 

"Go  out  the  back  door,"    she  whispered. 


KING'S   END  237 

"  Don't  let  mother  see  you.  I  '11  run  up  to  bed 
and  think.  I  shan't  sleep.  Oh,  Martin,  I  never 
was  happy  in  my  life  !  " 

It  was  a  wonderful  thing  to  bid  her  good-by 
while  the  cup  was  still  but  tasted.  He  ran 
back  as  she  was  closing  the  door  between  them, 
and  she  put  out  her  hands,  an  involuntary  wel- 
come. 

"Remember,"  he  said,  "you  're  as  much  my 
girl  to-morrow  as  you  are  to-night.  When  I 
come,  you  're  going  to  meet  me,  and  kiss  me 
good-morning  before  them  both." 

And  Nancy  knew  in  her  heart  she  should. 


AT  five  o'clock  in  the  morning,  all  Sally 
Horner 's  doors  and  windows  lay  open  to  the 
sun.  She  had  now  small  conceit  of  her  bed ; 
perhaps  she  even  feared  it  a  little  lest,  lying  a 
moment  too  long,  that  old  paralysis  of  the  will 
should  fall  upon  her. 

The  cradle  stood  there  in  its  old  place,  and 
the  baby  slept  the  sleep  of  one  to  whom  teeth- 
ing is  less  than  a  memory.  Sally  Horner,  on 
her  way  to  the  bedroom  to  hang  up  her  alpaca, 
threw  the  child,  in  passing,  a  glance  of  that  fierce 
tenderness  which  betrayed  her  as  she  was.  A 
step  sounded  on  the  walk  and  at  the  door.  It 
neared,  with  a  growing  caution,  and  Luke  Evans, 
his  stick  and  little  bundle  over  his  shoulder, 
came  softly  in.  Sally  Horner,  from  the  bed- 
room, peered  round  the  casing  and  watched 
him.  He  seemed  to  her  now  three  quarters 
man,  and  not  all  beast,  as  her  angry  spirit  had 
once  declared  him  ;  and,  being  on  her  feet,  she 
felt  capable  of  war,  tooth  and  nail,  should  he  lay 
hand  upon  the  child.  He  cast  a  glance  about 


KING'S   END  239 

him,  and  then  made  for  the  one  significant  spot 
in  the  room,  —  the  cradle.  There  he  stood  so 
still  that  the  clock's  ticking  seemed  too  loud, 
and  a  bee  outside  the  window  boomed  in  gusts 
of  husbandry.  A  woman  would  have  hung  over 
the  cradle  yearningly,  but  Luke  stood  fixed,  his 
eyes  feeding  upon  the  child  and  greatly  desir- 
ing what  they  might  not  see  again.  Sally 
Horner  watched  him  with  the  glance  of  one 
who  still  holds  judgment  in  abeyance.  She  had 
her  way.  She  could  afford  to  live  and  let  live, 
and,  being  on  her  feet,  nothing  seemed  to  her 
so  common  or  unclean  as  when  she  read  the 
denunciatory  psalms  and  talked  to  God  about 
her  enemies.  A  swift  impulse,  index  of  her 
new  generosity,  urged  her  to  ask  him  to  break- 
fast; but  at  that  instant,  he  bent  over,  and 
touched  the  child's  hair  with  his  finger.  Then, 
without  one  look  behind,  he  was  gone  out  of 
the  room  as  softly  as  he  had  entered. 

But  Luke  did  not  know  in  the  least  where 
he  was  going,  save  that  he  had  promised  to 
meet  the  Elder  on  the  Cumnor  Road  and  walk 
with  him  into  the  world.  Joy,  the  phantom, 
was  forever  gone,  but  he  felt  the  lightness  of 
those  who  have  cast  their  burdens  overboard. 
Now  he  was  alone.  When  the  vision  of  Nancy 
rose  up  before  him,  he  battled  it  with  strenuous 


240  KING'S   END 

hands.  The  child  ?  that  dream,  too,  was  over. 
Yet,  like  a  child  himself,  he  kept  on  saying  the 
rough  formula  he  had  made  out  of  the  Elder's 
preaching. 

"  You  made  me,"  he  said  in  his  heart  to  God. 
"  You  've  got  to  see  me  through.  I  '11  do  what 
I  can,  but  it 's  your  business." 

He  thought  he  had  thrown  off  human  ties, 
never  guessing  how  he  had  shifted  them  and 
welded  another  link  by  the  way.  The  old  man 
who  had  saved  him  was  his  neighbor,  his  friend, 
the  only  sign  he  had  of  God's  great  fatherhood. 
Yet  he  only  felt  that  the  Elder  "  needed  a 
guardeen,"  and  that  some  one  with  time  on  his 
hands  ought  to  be  by  to  keep  him  out  of  quag- 
mires. So  he  turned  into  the  crossroad  and 
walked  slowly  through  to  the  corner  where  they 
were  to  meet.  He  was  far  too  early,  but  that 
had  been  his  own  choice,  that  he  might  creep  into 
the  Homer  house  before  the  world  was  stirring. 
At  the  corner,  he  climbed  the  fence,  put  his 
bundle  under  his  head,  and  lay  down  to  wait 
and  muse;  and  there  great  comfort  came  to 
him. 

Late  in  the  forenoon,  the  Elder  and  Julia 
were  walking  the  Cumnor  Road,  bound  for  their 
next  abiding-place.  "  I  'm  afraid  Luke  '11  think 
we  're  pretty  late,"  said  he,  a  double  question 


KING'S   END  241 

in  his  look  and  tone.  He  was  always  seeking 
her  now  with  that  pathetic  gaze  which  seemed 
to  ask  her  whether  it  was  still  so  blind. 

"  You  just  as  soon  Luke  should  go  ?  "  he  con- 
tinued wistfully.  "  It  won't  be  any  put-out  ?  " 

"  Not  a  mite,"  she  answered,  with  more  than 
her  old-time  cheerfulness.  "He'll  be  some 
help,  and  I  'd  as  soon  mend  for  three  as  two. 
Besides  "  —  But  she  did  not  finish. 

Her  thought  had  been,  "If  I  should  slip 
away  some  time  into  that  place  you  are  so  wise 
*—  and  so  ignorant  —  about,  why  then  he  might 
be  company  for  you."  But  she  only  smiled  her 
new  smile  of  secret  knowledge,  and  walked  her 
way  contentedly. 

Here  the  Cumnor  Road  is  lined  with  elms, 
locked  overhead  in  perfect  arches.  Under  their 
canopy  a  horse  and  chaise  came  plodding  on, 
the  fair,  quaint  picture  of  an  older  day.  Dolly, 
the  horse,  trod  decorously,  and  Miss  Hill  sat 
upright  behind  her.  Julia  and  the  Elder,  in 
their  weedy  footpath,  walked  straight  on,  with- 
out a  glance,  until  Miss  Hill  drew  up,  an  opera- 
tion of  some  moment,  and  relaxed  her  pose  to 
beckon.  "  Miss  Kent,"  she  called,  with  a  cere- 
mony King's  End  had  never  used,  "I  should 
be  pleased  to  give  you  a  lift.  I  'd  ask  your 
brother,  but  I  should  like  to  see  you  alone. 


242  KING'S   END 

We  '11  go  slow.  He  can  overtake  us.  Dolly  is 
not  so  smart  as  some." 

Julia  shook  her  head.  "  I  'm  much  obliged," 
she  said,  in  a  voice  enriched  by  certain  sweet 
and  tremulous  notes  of  late.  "  I  'm  much 
obliged,  but  I  like  to  walk.  We  Ve  set  out  for 
good  now." 

"  I  should  deem  it  a  favor  —  though  not  to 
put  you  out.  But  we  can  speak  right  here,  and 
I  should  be  obliged  if  what  we  say  need  go  no 
further." 

The  Elder  walked  on  a  few  paces,  and  sat 
down  on  a  ledge,  where  he  waited,  musing. 

"I  caught  sight  of  you  going  by,"  continued 
Miss  Hill,  "  and  I  thought  first  I  'd  have  them 
call  you  in.  But  Dolly  was  all  harnessed,  and 
I  concluded  that  was  best.  I  brought  this  with 
me."  She  drew  a  folded  paper  from  her  reticule, 
and  looked  upon  it  seriously.  "  We  have  been 
going  over  my  brother's  papers,  and  I  found 
this.  Nobody  knows  about  it  but  me.  He 
did  n't  leave  a  will,  but  he  made  some  notes  for 
one.  This  is  the  paper  where  he  mentioned 
you." 

Julia  put  down  her  little  parcel,  because  it 
seemed  too  heavy.  She  nodded  again,  having 
no  breath  for  speech. 

"He  meant,"  continued  the  old  gentlewoman 


KING'S   END  243 

with  dignity,  "to  leave  you  a  sum  of  money  and 
the  right  of  a  home  on  the  place.  I  desire  to 
say  that,  although  the  will  was  never  made,  I 
shall  carry  out  my  brother's  wishes  as  I  think 
he  meant." 

Julia  reached  forth  her  shaking  hand.  "  Should 
you  just  as  soon  give  me  that  paper?"  she 
panted,  her  old  face  alive.  "Is  it  his  own  writ- 
ing ?  Should  you  just  as  soon  ? " 

Miss  Hill  sat  looking  at  her  from  behind  a 
veil  of  fine,  mild  dignity.  She  was  not  alto- 
gether pleased  by  fevers  of  impatience  in  so  old 
a  woman.  From  her  corner  among  the  delicate 
usages  of  life,  Julia  seemed  to  her  uncannily 
ancient,  —  one  in  whom  worldly  desires  should 
have  died  long  years  ago. 

"  You  understand  it  does  n't  give  you  any 
hold,"  she  said.  "  It  is  n't  law.  If  I  carry  it 
out,  it  will  be  by  my  own  free  will." 

"Oh,  I  know  that,"  said  Julia  radiantly.  "  I 
don't  want  the  money  —  you  're  real  good,  Miss 
Hill !  —  nor  a  home.  That 's  all  past  and  gone. 
But  the  paper  —  you  just  give  me  that,  and  I  '11 
be  contented." 

The  other  woman  passed  it  to  her  wonder- 
ingly.  "  I  never  knew  he  was  much  interested 
in  religion,  but  I  presume  your  life  and  your 
brother's  made  a  great  impression  on  him,"  she 


244  KING'S   END 

went  on.  "  And  being  as  your  brother  has  n't 
practical  ways  "  —  There  she  stopped,  aware 
of  being  unheard.  Julia  was  regarding  the  care- 
less memorandum  with  an  absorbed  and  tender 
look,  like  one  suddenly  possessed  of  treasure 
and  not  yet  able  to  compute  its  magnitude. 
Then  she  looked  up,  smiling,  and  the  smile 
turned  her  from  a  dry  old  woman  into  a  spirit 
which  has  incommunicable  secrets  of  heaven 
and  earth. 

"  I  '11  keep  this,"  she  said.  «  Yes,  Miss  Hill, 
I  've  got  to  keep  it.  You  never  '11  be  called 
on  to  pay  anything ;  but  you  've  given  me  now 
all  you  could,  and  more.  Good-by,  Miss  Hill. 
You  're  real  kind."  She  walked  away,  looking 
back  and  waving  her  hand  fantastically. 

Miss  Hill  sat  there  in  the  chaise  and  watched 
her,  wondering.  She  was  not  an  imaginative 
woman,  and  Julia  Kent  seemed  to  her  even 
more  unlike  other  folk  than  she  had  thought 
her :  yet  not  more  so,  perhaps,  than  any  one 
who  lives  a  gypsy  life,  devoid  of  distaff  know- 
ledge. So,  meditating  decorously  upon  differ- 
ences, Heaven-ordained,  she  turned  old  Dolly 
about,  and  drove  back  to  oversee  the  cleaning 
of  the  Judge's  room. 

The  Elder  rose,  as  Julia  neared  him ;  she  was 


KING'S   END  245 

walking  fast,  perhaps  afraid  of  being  recalled 
for  further  speech.  Her  face  shone  upon  him 
so  that  he  could  only  repeat,  "Why,  Julia!" 
and  again,  "  Why,  Julia  !  " 

She  had  slipped  her  love  letter  into  her 
pocket.  "That's  a  real  good  woman,"  she 
said,  "  real  good  !  But  I  can't  ride,  can  I  ?  I 
don't  want  anything,  do  I,  but  living  just  as 
we  Ve  always  lived  ?  "  She  laughed  excitedly, 
and  yet  happily,  too. 

The  beat  of  hoofs  echoed  upon  the  road : 
Black  Fancy  at  her  best.  She  had  wakened 
Luke,  drowsing  behind  the  wall,  and  flashed 
into  the  distance  before  he  knew  who  sum- 
moned. Martin  was  driving,  and  by  him  sat 
his  Nancy,  all  life  and  eagerness.  When  she 
saw  the  brother  and  sister,  she  bent  forward, 
smiling  at  them.  There  was  a  history  in  her 
look  :  deprecation  of  their  blame  at  being  for- 
saken, sorrow  over  their  starving  life,  and, 
above  all,  a  buoyant  justification  of  her  choice. 
" Here  he  is!  "  said  her  triumphant  air.  "  Here 
are  we  both  together.  That  is  all." 

In  the  instant  of  their  whirling  by,  Julia  laid 
a  hand  upon  her  brother's  arm.  "  Oh,  John  !  " 
she  cried,  laughing  in  little  gusts,  though  the 
tears  lay  on  her  withered  cheek,  "  look  at  them ! 


246  KING'S   END 

look  !  look  !    They  're  young  and  strong  —  and 
it 's  summer  time !  " 

But  after  all,  she  knew  Nancy  was  no  richer 
than  she  :  only  it  was  a  different  season  of  the 
year. 


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